A Dog Named Skip(per)
When I was in about the 2nd grade we got a dog we named Skipper. We had him only a short time and he was ran over on Atlanta Street about 3 or 4 blocks away. Daddy, as a policeman, picked him up and brought him home where he died. I don’t remember much about this dog, but I do remember I was really upset when he died.
After that we got another little puppy we also named Skipper. We picked him out of a litter of one of daddy’s friends who lived in the community of Elizabeth, just north of the hospital in Marietta, in fact, within a stone’s throw of what is now Brandi’s World Famous Hot Dogs.
Skipper was part collie and part bird dog. He was as big as a collie or maybe bigger and had the pretty markings of a bird dog, white hair with some black spots, and black ears.
We called him “Super Dog” because he could leap fences in a single bound and quiet a lady’s man. Several of our neighbors complained about Skipper fathering their sweet little female’s latest litter.
That was before the leash law. Generally, where I rode my bike and walked to Skipper went with me, running a hundred feet or so ahead of me, exploring and sniffing things.
We lived almost two miles from the center of Marietta. Then, we had a ’53 Chevrolet. Many times, probably more times than not, when we drove off towards town going to school or whatever, Skipper would chase behind us block after block. Finally we would give in, pull over and open the truck and he would jump in and when we returned home we would opened the trunk and he would jump out, stretch, and probably adjust his eyes to the bright day.
I read in Judy's blog this morning that her cat found it a resting place in the back of her van when she was packing up stuff in the back – and went unnoticed.
That reminded me of the time we were talking and one of us said, “Where is Skipper?” We haven’t seen him around for almost a week. It was not unusual for him to be gone for a day or two at a time. It happened so frequently we would not worry, knowing he would return soon.
But this time was the longest he had gone. Had he been ran over? Did somebody steal him? We started trying to think the last time we saw Skipper and one of us remembered opening the truck for him to jump in on Lawrence Avenue.
We knew we had to do what we had to do. It was at least 3 days, but more likely 4 or 5 days. With hesitancy we went out and opened the trunk.
Skipper jumped out, stretched, yawned, probably adjusted his eyes, and acted as if it was all routine – like, “What are you looking at?”
The trunk was clean of any dog waste… no dog poo, no dog pee smell – just some white hair and sweat.
We got to enjoy his company for a few more years. In fact, I am not sure of his fate. Mama said she gave him to a man who owned a farm out in west Cobb County.