The only pets my family had when I was growing up were dogs. They are still my favorite type of pet, although I have never owned one for myself as an adult.
Puppy and Fuji
In the mid-1950s, when my parents were first married and living in Japan at a U. S. Air Force Base in Miho, Japan, they acquired two Japanese-breed dogs, named Puppy and Fuji. They were brought back to the United States when my dad was reassigned to a base in Clovis, New Mexico in 1957. My sister and I were born there in 1959 and 1961, respectively. The dogs moved with us as we were relocated to a base in Duluth, Minnesota in 1966, then to my mom’s childhood home in Luck, Wisconsin. I do not have a recollection of the dogs, but my mom saved a few photos of them. I vaguely remember them being buried in a field behind the Luck house.
Rusty
Rusty was a stray mutt that we adopted in the late 1960s after my dad retired from the U. S. Air Force. We had fun running around the yard and exploring the back woods.
The fateful day of Rusty’s life was when our neighbors relatives were in town for a visit. My sister, Barb, and I would play near the road at the end of our driveway with Joel, John, and Shannon. Across the road was Little Butternut Lake. Usually when we would cross the road and Rusty was with us, we would make sure no cars were coming. One day rusty decided to cross the road by himself and got hit by a station wagon in front of us. I saw him hit the pavement and dragged under the car. We screamed out. My mom ran out to get him off the road. It was only a few minutes later, as he lay on the grass dying from internal bleeding, did we see him take his last breath. My mother usually held back her feelings, but this time there were tears running down her face. It was one of the most traumatic experiences of my life. Rusty was buried in the pet cemetery, next to Puppy and Fuji.
Ralph
I don’t know where he got his name. He was also a stray we adopted. He started out as a dog that would roam the town streets of Luck, Wisconsin. My dad worked for the Village of Luck Maintenance Department, so it could be that we adopted him to get him off the streets and give him a home. The problem was that throughout the time we lived with us, he would often roam the 1 mile back into town and have to be driven back by a friend of the family or one of dad’s co-workers. To keep him from roaming too much, Ralph would have a long chain hooked to his collar during the day and be put behind a closed garage door during the night. One time he ran away into the woods and did not return for a few days. When he returned, it was clear that someone had shot him and grazed his back. Part of his skin was hanging off. He eventually healed, but the injury caused his gait to change. He wasn’t the same dog after that.
Ralph was a terrible squirrel hunter. Squirrels would go up a tree and Ralph would be at the bottom, barking. The squirrel would jump to another tree and Ralph would continue barking at the first tree. Dad made a dog house out of an old crate that was lined with stray. Ralph had one outside our house and one inside the garage.
Ralph had a favorite shoe and rag to tug on. when he wanted to play, he would drag his toy to you and lay it at your feet. When you would grab it, he would grab the other side. The tug of war would start and last as long as you wanted to put up with it! One of our games was that I would chase him around a huge tree by the house. It was also surrounded by plants so you could not see around it easily. I would chase Ralph around a couple of times, the reverse quickly. I would almost catch him, but he would then run around the tree in the other direction.
Ralph and I got into trouble once. We had a neighbor who raised sheep in a nearby field. We would walk through the woods and when we got to the sheep, I would tell Ralph to “Sick ‘Em!” He would chase the sheep. The owner found out and called my mom. I distinctly remember Ralph and I walking back to the house and meeting my mom at the door with a very disappointed look on her face. I don’t remember if I was punished, but the look on her face was punishment enough.
I left home in the early 1980s. Ralph was still living at the house. One day my mom notified me that Ralph’s luck ran out. After many years of successfully crossing Highway 35 to visit the town of Luck, he was hit by a car. Ralph was buried in the pet cemetery in the backyard.
