1964. Our family lived on Eddie Street, in Tullahoma. A couple of blocks behind the Sonic on West Lincoln, that house is still there. Melanie was about 4, Sheri was about 2. Mom says Melanie and Sheri would get up early while her and dad were still asleep, and sneak off to the neighbors house. The lady there would fix them breakfast, or give them cookies. It was a different place, and a different time.
By the time I was one, we moved out of town, to 285 Anthony Mill Road. Mom and dad are still in that brick house, with twenty acres, 58 years later. Growing up, we always had a dog, or two.
Seems interesting to try and remember each of them, a couple of stories, and if possible, a picture.
All Dogs... The Early years at 285
Duke
Duke, a German Shepherd, was our friend and protector. I was a year old. I was always told he would get between me and the corn field, to keep me from walking out there. Melanie, Sheri and I spent alot of time outside, and Duke watched out for us. He alerted mom if anybody drove up, or walked up. He stayed outside, and occasionally came in. He didn't like storms.
Duke's early morning run.
Dad says he and Duke were in the truck at three way market. According to Google maps, it's three and a half miles from our house. A guy saw Duke, and asked about him. He said he looks familiar. They talked for a minute. The man said, "I recognize him, he comes by my house every morning." So Duke had a morning route that was three or so miles out and back.
The day I ran away.
I was about 5. Dad, Sheri and Melanie had gone horse back riding. My five year old self had enough of being left behind. I started walking. Duke went with me. We took off in the direction they went on the horses. The roads out there make a 3 mile circle. Left to Dunk Blanton Rd, then right to Rutledge Falls road, then right again back to Anthony Mill Road, our road.
Me and Duke made it a mile, to the bottom of Anthony's Hill. The creek is on the left, and the spring is on the right. Duke and I were playing in the creek when mom found us.
The day Duke died.
Duke lived big, and died big. I was about six.
Duke had gone across the road to Mr. Sain's house, and got himself in big trouble. Duke was either fighting with, or mating with their dog. Maybe both. The end result was, their dog died. Out in the country, one bad thing leads to another. Mr. Sain came to our house. He knocked on our door, and asked where our dog was. Dad was at work, we were inside. Mr. Sain said, "Your dog killed my dog... I'm gonna kill your dog." Mom, Melanie, Sheri, and I, ran outside to find Duke. He was in the back yard, at the end of the gravel driveway. Sitting there, ears up, looking at Mr. Sain. Duke never moved, barked, or growled. Mr. Sain took a few steps towards Duke, and shot him with a pistol. Duke was gone. Mom ran us inside, and called dad. We were all upset. When dad got home, Mr. Sain was nowhere to be found. Dad said it was a good thing. If he found him that day, he might have ended up in prison.
We grew up, I learned Mr. Sain had a drinking problem. He was a troubled man. We stayed away from him. When I was a teenager, he died of cancer. I didn't hate him. I made myself not think about him at all. There was no shock or sadness when he passed away. Just a hollow reminder that one bad thing somtimes leads to another.
I sometimes wonder what we could have done to protect Duke from himself, or our neighbor. Probably nothing.
He was strong and brave. Mr. Saine didn't take that away, and if anything, added to Dukes reputation and legend. In my mind, ole Duke still sits at the end of mom and dad's driveway. Ears up, eyes straight ahead. He still watches over our family somehow.
He was our friend and protector.
Babe
We got Babe when Duke left us. She was a German Shepherd. She was a loving, playful dog that hated storms. Babe would climb the furniture when it thundered. We loved her, and she loved us. The daily moments are clearer for me than any big memories. Maybe because we lost Duke the way we did. Maybe Babe knew just what we needed.
Tramp
Tramp was little brown chihuahua. He was fast. He was nervous, and twitchy, even when he was sitting still. Tramp was a sweet dog, and stayed inside. He lived a long happy life. His time with us overlapped Babe, and Butch.
Butch
I was about ten when we got Butch. A mixed breed mutt, medium sized. He was brown and white, and had some boxer in him, but not like the Pit mixes we see now. Butch had a regular sized head and a slender build. He was supposed to be my dog. Sheri and Melanie were into riding horses, and me, not so much. Maybe mom and dad saw something that made them think I needed a dog. Anyway, Butch wasn't around long. Everyone told me he ran off. For years I looked for him. When I rode my bike to Chuck's house I looked for him. For a long time, when we left in the car, I'd quietly look out the window for him. Years later, I found out Butch didn't run away. They said they couldn't tell me he died, likely from some kind of poison he got into. I understand their reluctance. We had some bad luck.
(I'll add more pictures as I find them.)