We have added a new member to the Howard family. Peanut, or Mr. P as we call him. Weighing in at twenty-five pounds for eleven weeks. The vet stated, “Ma’am, Peanut is a hoss!” Penny had her first litter of puppies; when I say puppies, I mean puppy. It was love at first sight for the girls. “Daddy, let’s call him Peanut,” Eva resounded!“ Charlotte was pacing back and forth, holding out her hands, saying, “Awe, cute.” “We are NOT keeping him,” daddy declared in his sternest of voices. From the shadows, I would like to state Mr. P now sleeps comfortably on his back each night in the garage.
Coming home from BB gun practice, I was excited to show my parents my score! My sister and I had become quite the marksmen. We were getting ready for an upcoming tournament. Mom had picked us up that evening. Pulling into the drive, I couldn’t get out fast enough; I slammed the door and ran up the stairs and into the house. “Dad, guess what I shot tonight!” I proclaimed. My excitement was interrupted by his face. I knew something was wrong. He gently asked me to sit down and apologetically explained that my Border Collie puppy, Gus, had been hit by a truck out on the road.
My dad had a Border Collie, Ty, that he used to help work cattle. At night Ty would lay in wait in the road ditch and chase cars up and down the road. Never venturing out into the road, but Gus didn’t understand that. Gus shot out faster than the man could react. I don’t know his name, but dad told me he came to the house carrying Gus and apologized for the accident. Dad said the man had done the right thing. “You never swerve. A human life is more valuable than an animal’s. You don’t know what lies beyond a swerve. Stay in your lane.” Dad thanked him for bringing Gus home.
I was heartbroken. Dad always handled these moments with such a strong exterior. On the other hand, Mom would hold us and cry right along with us. I never knew Dad’s heart hurt when he couldn’t fix ours.
Dad was always very gentle with his girls, even during the death of a family pet. He never let it go unnoticed. I will always remember what he looked like the day we buried Gus. His work boots poked out from the weight of his old jeans tucked inside. His carpenter’s coat was zipped up with the silk scarf tied around his neck. The same dirt-stained hat he wore to work every day was the same hat he adorned walking down to the creek. There was a broad cottonwood tree where the treehouse stood. I walked behind him, watching the shovel in his hand hit the ground with each step he took. Dad looked like he stood ten feet tall as I trailed behind him.
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Earlier in February, the water department worked on the water lines under our road. They had dug out a massive hole on our property so that they could reach the line. My sister was visiting with her two children, Ben and Caroline. Ben, Eva, and Charlotte were building a fort in the front yard with a dead tree my husband had cut down earlier that week. Clean-up was happening daily, but a fort needed to be built on this day. Ben and Eva enjoyed their adventure as survivors in a lost world of tree limbs and bark. Charlotte did her best to keep up. I saw smiles spread across the faces of the men working as they watched the kids playing. One man commented that seeing kids imagining and having fun was a pleasure.
Caroline, too young to enjoy survivors’ happenings, was fast asleep as naptime called from a full belly.
During the quiet enjoyment of the outdoors in the warmer winter weather we were experiencing, I decided to sweep out the garage. A casual conversation floated through the garage between my sister and me. All of a sudden, we hear, “NO! Get the dogs!” I saw our gang of dogs crowded around a tree by the picnic table. I knew what had happened. I ran across the yard in oversized boots with a broom over my head, screaming, “Get back! No, Maximus!” Charlotte, hot on my trail, crying because I didn’t invite her, was scooped up by Aunt B to keep her back from experience.
Maximus had been quietly watching his prey climb the tree to enjoy the afternoon sun. Maximus silently waited, knowing the shop cat we call Snowflake would eventually make his way down.
The city workers froze as they watched the scene play out. I can only imagine what running across the yard must have looked like. Later I learned they had discussed the incident as it was upon them. One leaned to the other and said, “This isn’t going to end well.” The other responded, “Did you get a look at that dog!” They concluded that there was going to be one heartbroken little girl.
Brittney quickly took the kids inside while I handled the scene outside. At the entrance to the house, I was greeted with, “Why, mommy! Why did Maximus have to do that!” I knew hard truths were about to be learned, and my job was to teach them. I took a deep breath and started, “Because he is an animal, Eva. As much as I want to protect you kids from life’s less-than-golden moments – I can’t. Animals will behave like animals. No matter how much we humanize them or dress them up. They still respond like an animal; this is to his credit. He behaves the way God created him. He protects against all costs and hunts like his instincts tell him to.”
Drying her tears, Eva stuttered, “We need to work on your running, mommy. You looked like a penguin running across the yard.” Brittney sarcastically defended, “In oversized mud boots and swinging a broom over her head, I think your mommy did a pretty good job.”
As my sister loaded up their vehicle, getting ready to leave that afternoon, she playfully said, “Kristen, I don’t know when we’ll be back. So much has happened here, it’s going to take some time to process.” In the middle of an unfortunate event, she always finds a way to make me laugh.
Later that evening, I told Chuck what had happened. Per his usual demeanor, he quietly slipped out the back door and disappeared down the path with a shovel in his hand. I knew where he was going. It wasn’t long before he peeped his head back inside and muttered, “Are ya’ll coming, or do you want me to go ahead without you?” Eva didn’t think she wanted to be there for this funeral. Daddy told her it was ok and went on back outside. I gently knelt down beside her and affectionately noted, “Eva, no one should have to attend a funeral alone.” She thought for a minute and then stated, “I know, mommy, let’s go get daddy.” Outside we found him waiting for us. Somehow, he must have known we were coming.
We walked single file, daddy leading the charge with his jeans tucked down in his boots. Eva followed behind him. Watching from the rear, with Charlotte bouncing in my arms, I observed Eva following her daddy. Her head bowed down low, but she kept walking. I couldn’t help but remember being a little girl and following just the same.
The dogs happily pranced along without a care in the world. Peanut scampered beside me, thinking to himself, “Look how the Lord has blessed.” Samson trotted briskly as if life couldn’t be sweeter, and Penny and Lola dove for rocks in the creek. At the graveside, I looked over my shoulder, and there sat Maximus off in the distance. His instinct was forthright; I knew he was watching over those he had been assigned to.
I never understood what it must have felt like as a parent to break the sad news to children until I had to do it myself. Cheering at games and calling them inside for supper are the highlights of my day. Yet pulling them close when something monumental happens in their lives becomes the stepping stone that teaches them to keep walking.
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