The Traffic Stopper by GJ

Our family had just moved to this central Illinois community. There was Dad, Jean, myself, and the two girls. The only rental we could find (because it was a college town) was a very old farm-house about three or four miles out of town. We hadn't been there long when Dad suggested that "Folks living in the country ought to have a dog." I went to school the next day and announced to the faculty lounge that we were looking for a dog. One colleague came forth, the home-ec teacher. She said they had two dogs, but the older one had been "replaced," the dog felt, and we were welcome. Turned out to be a medium-sized, long-haired, black and white female of unknown ancestry.

We hadn't had "Molly" long when Dad announced that we got more than one dog for "our money," because Molly looked pregnant, to him. Sure enough, Molly thanked us with 12 pups! Now, Dad was sort of a "scrounger," and had a talent for finding useful things. Our landlord had told Dad that he could use anything he found out in the seldom-used barn. What did Dad find, this time? A trough normally used to feed chickens. (About five feet in length, I'd guess.) Twelve puppies lined up, six on each side, very comfortably. Along about December first, the puppies looked old enough to leave the nest. I placed an ad in the paper, "free puppies," and they were taken (all except one) in short time. (I may have suggested, "for Christmas?")

The puppy we kept had a huge amount of white on his face and chest and front legs. The rest of him was tan and white. During a rain storm one day, the pup crawled under the porch to get out of it. Spotting the girls' wagon, he circled three times and laid down in it. Under him, it turns out, was the girls' cheap, very red, doll's blanket. Yes, the blanket turned his white fur PINK. Lots of pink on face, chest and front legs.

After that, we often heard screeching brakes out on the road in front of the house. It seems that cars passing by would see this PINK PUP and were compelled to stop and look again.

Got a "dog story?" E-mail it to me! It's probably a genuine MEMOIR.