Today I turned on 610 a.m. and got dead air. It was Glenn Beck so overcome with grief about his dog Victor that he couldn’t speak. Glenn gets a lot of hassle from the lefties for his tears (progressives don’t cry), but you’d have to be awfully hard hearted not to tear up a little on this one. He prepared his children by watching Roma Downey’s “The Bible.” They talked about faith and love. He wanted to bury Victor but was afraid what would happen to him if the family moved, so he will be cremated.
At first I thought I would never be able to remember all the dogs I wept over—because dogs that live outside just don’t live long. And their awful deaths!
Lassie, 1944 (killed on my grandmother’s farm near Franklin Grove while we were in California during WWII)
Large stray we had for a few weeks in Alameda—he was sick; if we named him, I don’t remember it. I’m guessing he’d been abandoned by another military family and my mom took pity on him. 1945
Laddie, 1946 (hit by a Greyhound bus when he followed us children to town, Forreston)
Jerry, 1948 (hit by a car in front of our brick house on the high-way in Forreston)
Pretty, 1948 (black and white small collie mix who had puppies under our neighbor’s porch; I think she was given to a farmer just in case she had more pups)
Curly, 1949 (one of Pretty’s pups we got to keep who disappeared when my brother and I were on a trip with Mom and grandparents)
Zero, 1949 winter (large ugly hound who “followed” me home from school one day which was against the rules; disappeared)
Lady, 1950-52 (a beautiful Dalmatian that didn’t like my mom until she learned that is who fed her regularly—died of skin cancer, buried behind the garage at 4 South Hannah)
Polka-dot, 1952-1963 (Dalmatian mix, our only indoor pet—after 1958; died of old age, I think)