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Gone are the days when we did not have to lock our doors. We had an excellent watchdog; we named him Spot. He was a black and white dog with black spots going from the nose to the middle of his forehead. He also had a patch of white at the end of his tail with a big black spot at the tip. He had white around his neck and wore a collar with tags.
Every week, my mother would mop and wax our floors before she went grocery shopping. She would take a taxi because she never learned to drive. As soon as she left, my sister and I would run through the house with our dog Spot chasing us and jump on Mom’s bed.
Anyway, there was one room he wouldn’t go into — our bathroom. He would put his paws out in front of him, trying to stop himself. He knew if he didn’t that he would get a bath! And my mom would lock him up on the back porch for chasing cars. One day, my mom forgot that she had locked him on the back porch and she brought a package of liver on the back porch to thaw out for Dad’s supper.
When she came back to get the package of liver, there was my dog sitting up, licking his lips with a big grin on his face. My sister and I hated liver! Then when Dad came home, Mom had to tell Dad what happened to his supper. Well, my dad was hollering and yelling and was taking off his belt.
When he did that, my sister and I ran in front of him to the back porch. We unlocked out back porch door and yelled at Spot to run for his life — and he did, taking two steps at a time, into the woods behind our house. He did not come back for a long time!
When he did come back, Dad ordered us not to pet that dog and not to feed him at the table!
Ann S. Brown