Smokey
Smokey
Smokey came from Minnesota, and arrived at our house just before dinner. When I first saw her, she was still inside the vehicle with only her head sticking out of a cardboard box. We were so excited - this was our first dog. Dad and one of his hunting friends moved her box to the grass, and began to open the package she was wrapped in. All of a sudden, what we thought was this "cute puppy" materialized into this ... this dog. She was lively and excited...and big!
We took her to the backyard, and dad announced that Smokey could do tricks. He took a ball and threw it...and to our amazement she chased after the ball, brought it back, and dropped it in front of him. He continued to do this for some time, and each of us had our opportunity to test our new dog with this great trick. It was about the only trick that she knew, and we found that her passion to chase balls could be useful later on. This was particularly true when we wanted to get away from her. We would throw the ball...she would chase it...and we'd sneak away. After awhile Smokey quit chasing those balls we threw. I recall one evening when dad wanted to play catch with Smokey and she refused to go after the ball. Dad just looked at us and said, "you guys must have spoiled her."
She initially wasn't a "house dog". She stayed outside, and during the evening was put into the garage where she slept in a doghouse. She stayed in that garage until one winter day when the temperature dropped below zero. Dad brought her into the house...and she never left.
Unlike most house pets, Smokey was only allowed in the kitchen or the new family addition only. Normally she would snuggle against one of the kitchen registers to keep warm, and at other times, when she was lonely for companionship, she would place her outstretched arms across the kitchen threshold - just to keep her eye on us during the evening hours. Was she lonely? I don't think so. The kitchen also was home to the family playpen, and there was generally one child or another occupying it over the years. Mom also spent many hours in the kitchen, either reading or preparing lunch or dinners for the rest of the family. Additionally, with 8 kids moving around the house, she was always surrounded by family.
If there was one time of year she loved, it had to be hunting season. The moment she would see dad come out of his bedroom with his hunting coat, hat and gun; her whole body would shake with excitement. She would immediately head to the front door, and as soon as dad opened the door, and she would be the first one to reach the station wagon. Once in the car, she made her way to the backseat, which she learned over the years was her assigned spot. The rest of the Smith hunters would jump into the car, dad would gently lay his Browning automatic next to his seat, and then we'd head off to hunt any game bird that was in season.
Outside of hunting season, Smokey didn't do a lot of running or exercising...one might say that she was an overweight couch-potato dog. Her fitness, or lack thereof, became apparent during her later years. The excitement of the hunt was still present in her eyes, and she still pulsated when dad put on his hunting coat and hat. And as before, when dad opened the front door, she was the first to reach the car, albeit noticeably slower than in previous years. Regardless, we were going pheasant hunting, and Smokey would just have to keep up.
We drove south until we found the "holy grail of hunting grounds" - a cornfield that was improperly posted. We opened the car doors and out raced the dog. She ran down the field until we could no longer see her. It didn't matter, we thought, we'll see her when we get farther down the field. We walked the length of the corn field, and bagged a few pheasants...but there was no Smokey. We weren't sure where she was, and began to call for her. No bark. No rustling sounds coming from dry corn stalks, so we walked back towards the car. We waited for awhile, until finally dad said, "let's go."
"We can't go," one of us said. "We have to wait for Smokey."
"We're not waiting around," responded an impatient parent, "She is nowhere to be found, so she may have gotten really lost."
We got in the car, and were saddened by the loss of our dog. We were especially upset that we were going to leave her so far away from home. "Would she be able to take care of herself", we thought. Dad started up the car, and began driving down the road, and mumbling something like, "!@3 dog...running off like that..." We drove several miles before dad said, "We have to go back...we can't leave her." "Thanks dad," someone said, "We'll walk through the fields again."
We reached the cornfield again, and this time all the boys walked the field yelling "Smokey", "Smokey come here", and so on. About a quarter of a way into the field, to our surprise...here she was. She was crawling...and in pain. She limped along until we were in eyesight of the car. A shout came from one of the Smith boys, "We found Smokey, but she can hardly walk." Dad raced out with a smile on his face. He examined her and exclaimed, "It looks like she ran so hard that has developed Charlie Horses in all four legs". He picked up up, and she began to cry because of the pain in her joints. He placed her in the backseat, and while we continued hunting, she was no longer interested in joining us.
Story by Terry Smith