Spike 1

Skippy and Spike

They said he was a bad dog. He had bitten some fellow and was a vicious animal. But, he was just the kind of dog Dad was looking for and he was free. People had been stealing his chickens and tools, and Dad had invested too much money for both to have them disappear.  Spike spent his first few days tied up with a strong chain by the barn. Spike’s job was to protect the barn. We were told to stay away. Mom was very afraid we might be hurt by this aggressive guard dog.

Of course, the first chance we got, all three of us went down to take a look. We thought it would be like seeing a lion at the zoo.  He could snarl and growl at us all he wanted, but we’d be safe and secure, just out of his reach. And besides, we never owned a DOG before.  Even if he was vicious, he was our dog.

At first sight, Spike did not disappoint. He was a muscular brown dog, with a large square head. It was not hard to imagine the size of his teeth.  We approached him cautiously, making sure we didn’t get too close. He crouched on all fours, lying in front of his old dog house. The chain rattled when he looked up to see us. His tail began to wag. It was a very short tail, but a very thick one as well. He had brown eyes and seemed to be smiling. He did not rush at us, but politely walked to the end of his chain. He smiled again, and lowered his head. His tail was wagging furiously.

We waited for him to attack, or snarl, or growl, or, at the very least, give us a mean look. But, he just sat down and smiled at us. He seemed genuinely glad to see us. One of us took a step closer, and Spike lowered his head.  We reached out a hand, half expecting it to be bit off.  Spike strained to get his head closer to the hand. We petted his head and quickly jumped back. He just sat there. He liked being petted. Soon all three of us stood next to him, patting his head and scratching behind his ears. He wasn’t a vicious dog after all. Dad was going to be very disappointed.

Soon the secret was out. Spike liked people. At least, he liked us. He didn’t have to be tied up. There was more than enough room on the farm in Louisa for him to run around. But he knew where he lived and didn’t stray too far.

Dad also discovered that Spike liked chickens, too. The brown dog killed a couple until Dad knocked him unconscious with a hammer to the head. We were all very happy when Spike woke up, and Spike seemed to lose interest in chasing hens around the yard.

Considering his size and temperament, it was hard to imagine that this dog was afraid of anything. But the old fellow did have a few things that turned him into a coward: Dad, Mom with a broom, and thunder.

In Clifford, Kentucky in the 1960’s, there wasn’t much on the one TV channel we got. We spent most evenings sitting out on the front porch. The adults all got a rocking chair. They’d rock and tell stories or gossip a little. We didn’t listen to the radio. The kids sat on the steps or on the floor.  The cats slept along the wall of the porch, and the dogs sat with the kids.

The summer evenings were usually cool and dark. The only light came from inside the house, or from a porch light. Most of the time the porch light was off, we didn’t want to attract mosquitoes. The talking and rocking was done in the dark.

One evening, the wind blew in heavy, dark clouds. The air was a bit chilly, and the trees shook in the breeze. Everything seemed to turn gray, and the stories being told became ghost stories. Despite the weather, no one wanted to go inside. Mamaw was telling tales, and it was nice we were all together, even if we couldn’t see each other. The kids all huddled with the dogs to keep each other warm.  The front door was open, and the inside lights shone through the screen door.

Rain pattered on the tin roof.  A flash of lightning lit up a cloud. A large clap of thunder rattled the window panes. And, the screen door seemed to explode.  There was a large hole in the bottom panel. The wood was broken and the metal screen was torn. I thought I had seen something large and black dash through it.

Spike was missing. The thunder had startled him and he had bolted into the house. We never had a dog in the house before. We had never seen a dog in a house where people actually lived. Imagine our surprise when we found Spike in Mamaw’s bedroom, cowering under her bed. He did not want to come out. We couldn’t coax or scare him out. As long as there was thunder, he wasn’t moving.
 
When the storm passed, we finally got him out from under the bed. He looked embarrassed, but I know he thought he didn’t have any other choice. Whatever thunder was, he was hiding out from it.
In the future, we learned to shut and lock all the doors when thunder came up. Spike found a different place to hide, up under the house.