Chapter 8 (Animals I’ve Known and Loved, cont.)

Our Spitz, Rex, and a Sad Ending for Heather

Rex is the second dog of which I have any conscious memory. He was a standard sized Spitz which was one of the many male dogs which congregated in our yard when Heather was in heat. When the heat was over, all the stragglers wandered back to their rightful homes, to regain their sanity and the weight they lost hanging around our back yard in vain …except for the chosen few that Heather would accept. My mother said that Rex “fell in love” with Heather. So, Rex stayed on and adopted our family.

For some reason, my mother was under the impression that most Spitz dogs were short-tempered with vicious tendencies. Rex, at least, was to disprove that theory. He must have appeared at our place around the same time my brother Peter was born, as when Peter was around a year old, he would hold on to Rex’s fur, and Rex would slowly stand along with Peter. Using Rex like a walker, Peter took his first steps. We always said that Rex taught Peter how to walk.

It was good to have a second dog around in case anything happened to the first. Years later, when I had Gayle and Millie, in the 1990s, it was suggested once by someone sitting in the waiting room at the veterinarian’s office, when I had to bring in both dogs, whereas only one was getting treatments for Lymphoma. She said the new dog learns from the old. I think it’s a good idea too. I haven’t had just one dog since 1980.

This one about Rex and Heather ends on a sad note. Heather was used to going everywhere with my mom in the old Willys sedan [The one pictured behind me and Heather in Chapter 1]. One of my older brothers who was going to high school at the time, missed the bus, and Mom had to drive him there. Heather wasn’t around, and they had to rush so that my brother Tucker wouldn’t be late for school. As they were going around the curve of Williams Court, the dirt road where we lived, she felt the car bump over something, stopped the car, and realized in horror that it was Heather. Heather was used to ducking under the door in her haste to get into the car, and thought that if she did, she wouldn’t miss out on the ride, only it was while the car was running, and the door shut, so she dove right under the wheels. It was a sad day …especially for Mom. She buried Heather in the pet cemetery in back of the sand bank hill across from the house. I had learned cemetery manners on Memorial Days when Mom and Dad would take the family to the various cemeteries where her mom, and dad were buried, and where my father’s mother was buried. [My grandfather on Dad’s side was still alive and lived into his 90s.] So when we’d play in back of the sandbank… there were some nice birches that were bent over just enough to make good “horses” for our imaginary Western scenes, playing cowboys and Indians, we’d be careful not to step on Heather’s grave.

Later we had to be careful not to step on Rex’s grave, as he had died of a bowel obstruction. Mom, being the professional nurse , and amateur veterinarian she was, spread every newspaper in the house on to the kitchen floor, and tried giving the poor dog enemas to loosen whatever it was, and I can remember the watery mess it was after all her efforts which were in vain, as Rex died shortly afterwards.

The next time she was going to have a dog, she was going to do it right, but that is another story… or, I should say...chapter.