Now is that love or what?
That’s me and MY dog. I had other dogs or I was told they were my dogs so I would feed them. 
They were big and rangy yard dogs and they either ran off or became chicken killers and that was the end of them.
But that was MY dog. I don’t know what kind of dog it was, but it was a little dog for a little fellow like me at the time. It would be waiting for me outside and it would follow me around and knew your basic orders like “sit” and “stay.” From the picture I would say we had a pretty good dog human relationship.
But one day I am out collecting coke bottles from along the road, and I have my little dog with me though Joan had said over and over don’t take that dog down by the road or it will get run over. And sure enough I walk across the road to look in the ditch on the othe side of the road, and as I turn to go back I see MY dog has started towards me from the other side of the road. And there is car, coming out of nowhere.
I was paralyzed. The car was on us so fast, I didn’t have time to move. I didn’t even have time to yell as the car ran right over my dog killing it instantly.
The car just kept on going.
I picked up the dog and took it back to the place and I started crying and couldn’t stop and I went and threw myself belly down on my bed and just couldn’t stop crying. And Joan was completely useless per usual. She prided herself on being a Mother par excellance, and she did an OK job I guess at keeping us in clean clothes and fed alright, but when it came to the emotional side of being a mother she was completely clueless. All she could do was sit by the bed and say over and over that she had told me so and the dog wouldn’t be dead if I had listened to what SHE said.
A fat lot of good that did. I knew I had a mistake. I didn’t have to be told that.
Any way, when I came across that picture recently, I almost regretted it because I started remembering that dog and that moment by the road. I can almost feel that dog sitting in my lap. It liked me and was an affectionate animal.
Well shit a brick Nick. I think I have heard that story a few times over the years and it makes me recall when I felt that my closest friend in the house on Ramona drive was Micky. Being the smallest human in a house full of big humans I identified with that damn dog. I can still recall the taste of his dog chow.
I was thinking of doing my paper on certain types of tv shows or family birth order(first, second, middle, last born,etc).