Crossing the Road

We had many dogs while I was growing up, but never one that got old. This phenomenon was due to where we lived. It was about a mile west of a small town right on the main road between Houston and San Antonio. In itself this would not have been a big problem, but that major highway divided the family property. We were constantly crossing back and forth across that road to go shoot birds, rabbits or anything else that moved. We had just enough sense not to get hit by the constant flow of traffic. Dogs, being a little less smart, weren’t as lucky. The scene was always the same. Horn blowing, screeching tires then a loud thump. Some drivers stopped and apologized. Most just floored the accelerator and continued on. Replacement dogs were easy to come by. Our Grandfather visited all the local farms, buying livestock, and there was always a fresh litter somewhere. I don’t remember how many dogs we “went through”. I don’t even remember any of them, save one. The one I remember wasn’t the normal mixed-breed farm dog. It was a full breed Cocker Spaniel. Not sure about the name, but it might have been Rusty. It had a silky rust color coat. It was the “family” dog, but I
Considered him mine. I spent far too much time playing with him. During the first few weeks I couldn’t concentrate at school for thinking about Rusty. As months past, I did my best to overfeed Rusty. He grew rapidly and soon could out run me. He kept getting fatter to the point I could tell that he didn’t want to run anymore. It didn’t bother me and I was content to sit down in the grass and let him nest in my lap.
I returned home from school one day and was surprised that Rusty hadn’t exercised his regular routine of running out to greet me. I dumped my books on the porch steps and started calling and searching. Just around the corner of the house I heard a whimper from under the house. I pulled open the tin door and there was Rusty. His normally rust color was blood red. I looked closer and was horrified. I ran screaming to my mother.. “ Mom! Mom! Rusty is falling apart!!” My mother grabbed a dishtowel and dried her hands as she followed me out side. She took one look and said. “O Lord, Rusty is too young to have puppies. “ Puppies?” I questioned, “ Rusty is a boy!” I was shocked and confused as my mother took me aside and explained what had happened. Although not hard fast, it had always been an understood rule that female dogs were not welcome in our family. We had gotten Rusty and he was a male. One morning, when we had had him only a few days, my mother had accidentally run over him when she returned from taking us to school. She had quickly returned to the people that had the cocker pups to get another male. However they only had females. She took the female to save us from the pain of loosing a dog.
Years past and I don’t remember for sure if Rusty had any more pups or even when or where she died. We always had that property across the highway so it’s a pretty good chance she died while crossing the road.

©2009