The little black rat

When she came to us, she was only about 8 inches long, a tiny black wart of a pup. They sat her on the floor and left. The poor little thing was shaking so hard, terrified, and I couldn't help it -- I had to pick her up and cuddle and talk to her, holding her fast until she finally stopped shaking. Think of a baby being taken away from its family and given to people it did not know. Yes, I know she is only a dog, but if you are me, you can't help but love the little thing. So from that moment on, she became my puppy. No, she does not really belong to me, but she loves me also. And those of you who love dogs will know just what I mean.

If you know me or have read any of my columns, you must know that I love animals, dogs in particular. I have had animals around for as long as I can remember. Of course, there are innumerable stories of the pets we have had.

We animal lovers are suckers for puppies in particular. All dogs have personalities, which you can recognize if you spend any time with them. We have had so many dogs over the years that I could write a whole book about them. I'm sure there are many others who could also do that. Everyone has their own stories.

And then there was Vega, my smartest of all the dogs I have had. When I went to pick out a pup that my friend had said I could have, this little spotted female kept pushing the other pups out of the way. So of course I took her home. She learned tricks easily, and sat in her own chair in the kitchen when we ate. She made no effort to get to the table.

But when we ate she was right there to wait for Pop to throw her a tidbit. Now I understand that we are not allowed to feed the dogs anything but dog food. So that's the way it is, no matter what we used to do. When we lived on the farm, the dog got the leftovers and what they didn't eat, the pigs did. But that was then, this is now. So we abide by the rules. But I used to enjoy watching Vega nod her head when Pop asked her if she wanted a bite.

The food was one thing, but her undoing was running after a truck and being hit. Her hind legs would not work, apparently a broken back. Her back legs would stretch out behind her, and after a while I started propping her back legs up and, over time, she learned to walk again. She was 6 months old. Six months later, she did the same thing, on the same street. This time the truck wheel crushed her right back leg.

This was during World War II, and the vet would buy meat, rationed at the time, so he could give it to my little Vega. His comment was "this dog wants to live!" And live she did, learning to sit up and beg for goodies, walking around on three legs, but never trying to stop another truck. There may still be a few people around who remember the three-legged dog. She went everywhere with me. She got around so well, it was easy to forget that she had only three legs.

You may remember old-fashioned paper bags from the grocery store. As soon as Vega heard the rattle of the paper bags when Mom would come from the grocery store, she would come and sit in front of Mom, hoping that Mom might give her a treat. After all, the bags rattled, and that meant food. It got to the point where Vega would eat whatever was in the sack. She once ate a small potato -- it was in the sack.

One of Vega's favorite things to do was go with me whenever I left the house. She really was no trouble, and it seemed she did not want to be left behind. When we made a trip to Collinsville, Pop said we could take her along. So we did. It was a disaster.

Pop always went through St. Louis in order to visit the relatives who lived there before going on to Collinsville. Vega barked at every stop. Back then there was a stop light on every corner downtown. Pop was extremely upset, and vowed her would never take her anywhere again. And he never did.

The first time she discovered she could not go along was also a disaster. She did not get to go on the next trip, and I sufffered for it.

We always took a suitcase when we made the weekend trips. The first time she saw the suitcases come out of the closets and she did not get to go, you could almost feel her displeasure. Again, if you spend enough time with a dog, you discover that they can pout. After the first time, all the boys had to do was bring a suitcase out where she could see it. She would turn away from us. She began to go to my room and hide in the closet. If I went to her, she would turn her face away. Yeah, just like a human. Of course, she was always happy when we came back home. Then her pout was over.

So now I have only memories of that special dog, and I am sure there are many special dogs around. And my little CoCo is also special and a joy to have around. So much so that she sleeps right next to me at night.

My son has a pitbull that also sleeps with him. She is a beautiful, friendly dog, and almost as big as I am. Do not believe the terrible things you hear about pitbulls. If treated with love, all animals can be your friends.

Little CoCo will never grow more, so she will always look like a little black rat to some. But, to me, she is just a very small loving friend.