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January 22, 2008

A story from my youth

Someday, I am going to have to scan a photo of my childhood dog, Blitzen. He was a Standard Dachshund, red in color. Santa Claus gave him to our family at Christmas, back in about 1959, I was about 6 years old, my sister, just 3. Despite all the warnings about the absolute evilness of getting a Christmas pet, Blitzen lived a long life, making until I was 20 years old, when cancer took him from our family.

Blitzen was a true character. He had many adventures and was a great dog. Actually, I could probably write a book about him. He had a collection of beer cans that he had stashed in the woods, and would go and pick one out and carry it around with him on days when we were all out on the patio. Blitzen would bring us box turtles, that's about all he managed to hunt, and he never hurt them.

Blitzen also got into trouble some times. He once stuck his nose in a hornets' nest, and when Henry, the man who helped dad work in the yard on must summer weekends, saved his little dachshund butt by pulling him from the hole, the hornets came flying out, chasing both Blitzen and Henry. Both ran into the house, some hornets making it inside, too, and I remember Mom being so worried over Henry being stung, and as soon as she knew he was alright, she took one look at Blitzen and called me in (I must have been about 10 years old at that time - if my sister is reading this, Anne, do you remember?). Blitzen's nose was growing in size right before our eyes. He must have been stung 20 times or more on his nose. It was scary. Naturally, Mom got him to the vet, and he survived, but he lost most of the hair off the top of his nose, and it never grew back right, and his nose was always crooked after that.

But that's not the story I wanted to tell you.

Sometimes our pets need rescuing. Our Gunner got caught in a bad situation last week, and John wrote about it here.

When Anne and I were growing up in St. Louis County, behind our house, there was a woods and a creek and a pond beyond. All the neighborhood kids would play back there in the summer, and in the winter, the pond would normally freeze over, and we could ice skate on it, or just play. Sometimes dangerously so.

Blitzen, the good loyal dog he was, always followed Anne and I when we walked back into the woods, even in the winter when the snow might be 8 inches deep or so, and he could barely keep his nose above the white stuff. His job was to make sure we were both safe.

Once, I remember there being a lot of snow, maybe as much as 12 inches or so on the ground, and my sister, Anne and I bundled up and hiked over the pond, not an easy task when we were wearing about 10 layers of clothing to ensure our warmth. I'm thinking I was maybe 14 or so and Anne would have been around 10 or 11. Blitzen came with us.

A bunch of kids were out on the ice, but just a few feet out, because it was obvious that the ice was not yet thick enough to support a kid out in the middle.

Someone threw a stick out on the pond, and Blitzen, being a dog, ran out to get it. I knew right away that ice would give way, and it did. He was in the freezing water, desperately trying to climb back on the ice. He could not do it. I remember distinctly that some of the boys were laughing and making fun of poor Blitzen. They thought it hilarious that my dog was going to die.

Damn boys.

So, I got on my hands and knees, and crept out on the ice to try save our dog. Naturally, the ice gave way, and in I went. Fortunately, I was a lot taller than the dachshund, and I was only about waist-high in the water and ice. But I was freezing! I grabbed Blitzen, and very clumsily made my way to the shore. I know I was clumsy, because I remember those damn boys laughing at me.

I was crying, I'm pretty sure Anne was crying, too. Blitzen was wet and cold, for a 20 pound dog, pretty heavy! I carried him back home slipping and sliding down the snow on the big hill to the creek, across the creek, twice, and then up the big hill to our back yard and home, were Mom and Dad could make everything better. And they did. Mom got me out of my wet, freezing layers of clothes and dumped me in a warm bath.

Daddy got towels and dried off Blitzen kept him warm. I don't remember what Anne did, I assume she was also ordered to get out the clothes, though hers were not as wet, and get in the other bathtub, in the bath next to the kitchen.

So, that is one of Blitzen's stories. Do any of you have stories of saving your critters?

Posted by Beth at January 22, 2008 8:17 AM

Comments

Posted by: pam at January 22, 2008 10:41 AM

Posted by: Rivrdog at January 22, 2008 7:50 PM

Posted by: John of Argghhh! at January 22, 2008 8:30 PM

Posted by: Trias at January 25, 2008 10:38 PM