Jeff

Jeff was our second dog. We really should not have had him and we would not have if Bud had anything to do with it. Bud had a heart for animals, but there was a fear of losing them I think As a child he had been given a small bird, and he deeply loved it. But in one of the frequent middle of the night moves made by his desperately poor family, Bud’s bird had to be left behind. He went back to the old apartment the next day to rescue it, but it had frozen to death in the night. Bud was inconsolable and had decided never to have another pet. But now, Bud was up north deer hunting and it was Steven’s tenth birthday and there was no money for a birthday present. I had heard about a family who needed to find a home for a puppy and Jeff became ours, or I guess I should say, Steven’s.

I picked Jeff up on the afternoon of his birthday, put a ribbon around his neck and brought him home for the birthday celebration. Steven was so happy. I have a picture of him sitting on the floor in his shorts hugging Jeff. Come to think about it, they were both happy. When Bud came home from deer hunting he did not make a big fuss over it either. Bud was always kind to animals, and he got as much fun out of Jeff as the rest of us—once he got used to the idea.
Jeff had a way of winning most people over. He looked like a miniature German Sheppard. He had sparkling, intelligent eyes, and a sweet mischievous nature. Our neighbors did not think he was so sweet though. In particular there was one neighbor who just hated all dogs, but especially Jeff. For some reason I think Jeff knew this because when it came time for him to go potty he would go right over to their lawn and deposit it there. That woman reported him to the dog catcher on numerous occasions, and he then had to be retrieved from the dog pound. That was not only a nuisance but it was expensive too. The children were beginning to build up a pretty good case of anger towards her. I over-heard them dreaming up the ways they might get even with her and figured it was time for me to step in.

I sat them down and explained that she had every right to be angry. Our dog had violated her yard. She was afraid of him and she hated the messes he made. We were at fault for not keeping him penned u p or at least on a lead. “It’s time we apologize and make things right with her” I told the kids.

They were not much in favor of that plan but I went ahead anyway. I baked a cake and decorated it with a big, “We’re Sorry”. Then, with all four of them in tow we went up to her door, gave her the cake and pledged to try and keep Jeff in our own yard. She was warily gracious, and we did not have to rescue Jeff from the pound again. She moved away soon after that.
The police gave Jeff a good deal of attention too. When a female dog came into heat Jeff was more than willing to accommodate her, no matter what end of town she happened to live in. It was almost impossible to keep him tied up at those time. He would slip away as soon as the door would open and dash away. Then just as quickly he’d be scratching at the back door breathlessly, and strike an innocent pose on the living room rug when the police came knocking at the front door. There were a lot of dogs around town that resembled our Jeff.

Jeff lived to be an old dog but he never lost his taste for romance. Once, in a passionate dash across the street he was struck by an automobile. It was a sad day. The person who hit him brought his limp form up to the porch. I was sure he was not going to make it, but Kathleen decided she was not going to give up on him. She placed him on a blanket and patiently fed him water with an eye-dropper for several days. Slowly he began to recover. At first he could only lift his head, then finally he got to his feet with trembling weakness and limped to the door. We let him out thinking of course that he would be ready for a potty break, but that was not the case. That old dog, on weak and buckling legs made his way across the street where his lady fair was patiently waiting for him.

After his first accident he never fully recovered his speed and agility, and on a frigid January night he was hit a second time and killed instantly. I think that it was Tommy McCarthy who helped to bury him.