Chapter 29

I don’t remember life before dogs. When I was four, Queenie entered our lives. A cuter puppy you’ve never seen. Which is probably why Mother kidnapped her.  We were living in Wichita, and she saw this cute little girl trotting down the street and lured her to our house with treats. She probably belonged to someone, but she had no collar, so she was fair game, as far as Mother was concerned.  She was an odd-looking pup. Long and lean like a dachshund, with black fur and brown markings. But had slightly curly hair and long ears, like a cocker spaniel.  Her ears barely cleared the ground because of her short little legs. Adorable! Perhaps it was an attempt to keep her ears from dragging the ground, but she always held her head high, like a little princess. So Mother named her Queenie.

It wasn’t until we moved to Minnesota with her that we found out what a powerful little hunter she was. She’d bag squirrels, rabbits, and even woodchucks. She’d come home, dragging her kill, which was sometimes bigger than she was! And she ate them. Every scrap! Now how a little city girl like her learned to hunt is beyond me. It was her nature. And was she ever smart!

Over the years, Queenie bore numerous litters of pups. One day, Mother called us to the kitchen window to watch her do something amazing. She had taken her latest litter down the driveway to the county road that ran past our house. It was a busy road, and people drove too fast on it. More than one of our dogs had been hit on that road. But Queenie was street-smart. She barked at her brood, and they sat.   She walked to the edge of the highway, looked both ways exaggeratedly, then back at her pups.  She did it again. Then she barked, and they safely followed her across the road. Clearly, she was teaching them to look both ways before crossing. The alfalfa field just across the road was full of mice and rabbits, where she would teach them to hunt.  

As she aged and got slower and stiffer, she found ways to compensate so she could continue to hunt. She would go up to the corn crib and hunt around until she found a piece of corn that was sticking out of one of the cracks. She’d grab that piece of corn and wiggle it until she had it out. Often she could barely carry it, but she would prance off into the woods with it. One day, Mother followed her, watching to see what she did with it. Queenie found a small game trail, dug a shallow hole next to it, stuffed the ear of corn partway into the hole, and covered it up so it couldn’t be easily taken. Then she went to nearby bushes and lay in wait. Because she had gotten slow, she had figured out how to bait her prey, pouncing on them while they were distractedly nibbling on the corn. Now that’s smart!

We all loved Queenie, but she was, from day one, Mother’s dog. The canine love of my life had to be Pepper. We got her as a pup and, for me, it was love at first sight. She had long black fur, brown markings, and a white chest. She looked like a small shepherd with a little black lab and collie in her, maybe? A sweet face that could actually smile, showing her teeth in a grin.  She was the most intuitive dog I ever had.  As a budding teen, going through the usual emotional ups and downs, she’d run to greet me when I came outside. If I was in a good mood, she’s jump around playfully. If I was sad or depressed, she’d put her nose into my hand to comfort me and walk quietly beside me. How did she know?

She understood a lot of words, for sure. One time, after I left for college and Andrea was married, they were taking the horses away one by one. A trailer came to pick up Mick, the big dun gelding, and as it drove away, the little Arabian, Trigger, stood looking over the pasture gate, dejected.  Mother was out on the back porch, ironing. Pepper was lying in the shade by the porch steps. Mother said, “Oh, Pepper. Look at poor Trigger. He’s so sad. Go keep him company.”  She was just kidding, of course.  But Pepper heaved a big sigh, got to her feet, and walked reluctantly out to the gate and lay down by the horse.  Mother was shocked. Pepper and Trigger had a contentious relationship, one always nipping at the other. But on this day, she did as Mother asked.

Did Pepper really understand every word?  When I went away to college, she went crazy every time I came home for a weekend or holiday, winding around my legs and crying and grinning that grin.  When I got married and moved away, I didn’t see her for nearly two years. The day I came home to visit with my toddler in my arms, she came running toward the car, then stopped dead when she saw me. She dropped to her belly and started crying, crawling across the grass until she reached my feet, where she laid her head.  It broke my heart.  I squatted down and petted her until she recovered from the shock, then introduced her to my baby. She sniffed him, licked him, and knew he was mine. The entire visit, whenever Derek toddled through the grass, she followed him like a mother hen, never leaving his side and not letting anyone but me pick him up. She even growled at my brother-in-law, whom she had known her entire life. That was MY baby and nobody else was allowed to touch him.  She died a year later, before I got to see her again. But I’ve never had another dog like Pepper.

Epilogue (Cindy): When Linda left for college, I tried to be Pepper’s “pal,” and though she seemed to appreciate it, there was no doubt she missed Linda (as did I)! We sort of bonded over that haunting loneliness you feel when your other half is no longer there. I had several dogs that were special: Gypsy was Pepper’s sister, but she was hit by a car on the road. Nikki, the white Spitz my sister Andrea brought me for Christmas one year, was my favorite, but he too got hit on the road, although everyone told me he had run away because they didn’t want me to lose another dear pet. I would go outside when I got home from school every day and holler and holler for Nikki. Finally, Mother couldn’t take it anymore and told me what really had happened. All of our dogs were dear to us, but I think Queenie and Pepper will always be … well, top dogs.