All the recent media buzz about the Obama’s new pet, Bo, the six-month-old Portuguese Water Dog, has caused me to go back into my memory bank to my first pet, Stumpy, who I remember looks a lot like Bo. But we were told that his breed was Water Spaniel.
A couple, friends of my parents, gave him to us because they were moving to Arizona and for some reason had decided not to take him along. Their loss; our gain! Stumpy, a medium-size dog, was mostly all black with just a streak of white under his chin. He had floppy ears and a long tail. He was soooooo cute and we loved him soooooo much from jump street. Stumpy was already house-broken, which meant he knew to “do his business” outside in the alley.
My parents owned a two-flat at 6627 S. Langley Ave. in the West Woodlawn community and we lived on the first floor. Back then, the neighborhood was relatively safe and our back door was hardly ever locked during the daylight hours, especially in the late spring and summer months. In addition to the wooden door, there was a screen door with a long spring attached that would keep it closed – not locked - just closed! Whenever Stumpy wanted out, he would push the screen door open with his nose and pull it open with his paw when he wanted in. The first time he tried to get in, the door closed on his tail and he let out a loud yelp. He soon learned to tuck his tail between his legs and pull the door wider for a safe entrance.
But when the wooden door was closed, Stumpy would stand on his hind legs, peer in the kitchen window and bark to get someone’s attention. My mother was usually in the kitchen – cooking, sewing at her trusty Singer, reading a book, magazine or the newspaper or listening to the radio. But when no one was in the kitchen and Stumpy wanted in, he would resort to the screen door. He’d pull it open with his paw as wide as he could and let it go. The noise brought results.
On our back porch was a swing and in the rear of our rather large backyard was a huge cottonwood tree. My father, who considered himself quite the “jack-of-all-trades” built (in addition to a brick bar-be-que pit) a lighted fishpond in the yard and kept it stocked with goldfish in the warm months. (How idyllic!) If Stumpy wasn’t in the house, you could usually find him either lying on the swing (swinging!), under the tree or next to the fishpond – chill-laxing!
Stumpy loved Rival Dog Food and would carry a can in his mouth from the corner store to home. And you couldn’t fool him with a can of something else, either. He absolutely knew the difference. Maybe it was the smell or the label, but he knew it! He ate a can every night, and when we scooped it in his bowl on the floor in his presence, he would sit there but look away as if to say, “I’m hungry and want to eat so badly, but I just can’t stand to watch you put my food in my bowl. I can hardly wait!”
My dad worked the midnight shift as a foreman at the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad yard in suburban Riverdale. He also owned West Woodlawn Press, which he operated out of our basement, type-setting by hand, printing tickets, invitations, souvenir program books, business cards, names on Christmas cards, etc.. My parents also owned a couple of pieces of real estate property. So his comings and goings were extremely sporadic.
But if Stumpy was in the house, we always knew when my father drove up. Stumpy would sense his arrival and run to the front window, watch him as he parked, wait until he walked up the front steps and run to the front door to meet him, all the while making a noise, peculiar only to my dad’s arrival. The same was true for my mother and me. Each welcome noise was different for each one of us. I always knew which one of my parents was coming in; and the same was true for them. Stumpy had developed three decidedly different and distinct “welcome home” noises.
A couple of instances I remember most vividly about Stumpy. The first: my girlfriends and I were “double-dutching” in the street. Traffic was not as bad on the side streets back then as it is today and cars traveled at a much slower pace, especially when children were present. Someone was always on the lookout for approaching cars and we would move to the side. Whenever I was out playing, Stumpy was always nearby. Apparently, he did not see this car coming and its back wheel ran over his middle. I screamed; he jumped up and ran home, down the gangway, up the back porch and laid down at the screen door. My father scooped him up and drove him to a vet who examined him and said other than being a bit sore, he seemed to be fine! Stumpy was not as active for a day or two, but after that he was A-OK - back to normal!
I attended St. Anselm’s Catholic School on 61st and Indiana about a mile from my house and sometimes my father or mother would drive me to school and sometimes pick me up. (Most times Stumpy would be in the car.) Other times, I would either ride “the street car” or walk home, weather permitting, with schoolmates who lived nearby. It would always be pre-determined, however, before I left home in the morning.
This particular day, the plan was that I would walk home. About 10 o’clock it started to rain hard and continued until the early afternoon. When school let out at 3 o’clock, it had just stopped. As I came out of the building, there was Stumpy, watching and waiting for me. He had never done that before. We were shocked that he knew his way to St. Anselm’s by walking.
During my senior year of high school, I worked Mondays-Thursdays after school downtown at “the telephone company” (Illinois Bell) and arrived home after dark. My mother and Stumpy would walk to meet me at 66th and Cottage Grove. I’ve heard that dogs are color-blind, but Stumpy would only check out a female who wore a red coat like mine. About 10 minutes before I was due at the bus stop, he began getting antsy and following my mother around as if to say, “It’s time to go get her!” He also knew when it was Friday. If I wasn’t home on a Friday eveingg, he seemed okay with that!
At some point, my mother began to let him out and he would come alone to meet me. This went on for a couple of months. Stumpy would be there faithfully and we would walk home together. This one snowy evening in early December, he was not there. Oh well, I thought, I guess they forgot me or maybe got the days mixed up. I started home and about a block away saw a large black spot in snow in the street near the curb. It was Stumpy and he was shivering, whimpering and bleeding. He had been hit by a car. A hit-and-run, I surmised. I scooped him up and ran the rest of the way home where he died in my arms.
I have had a couple of dogs since then, but I will always remember Stumpy, how special he was, how loyal he was, how faithful he was, how much he loved us and how much we loved him. We loved him like he was a member of our family, which indeed he was!
So now, whenever I see Bo, the Obama family dog, who looks so much like Stumpy, the Fambro family dog, a warm feeling abounds and I smile – both inside and out!
I will always love and remember Stumpy!
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