My dad was a career fighter pilot - 3 wars. In 1965, before he went to Vietnam, when I was seven, he was stationed at Eglin AFB in the panhandle of Florida. He was learning to fly the F-4 Phantom. I was a skinny, frail kid. We moved around, a lot, I didn't have many friends. The folks across the street had a fox terrier puppy - Rusty. I used to play with her every chance I got. Before we left Florida, they gave us Rusty. Maybe there's been a boy that was closer to Rusty than me but I can't believe that. We did everything together. Rusty accompanied me in my many battles. That is where she earned her nom de guerre - Rusty the War Dog. In 1985, I got home from completing Marine Officer Candidate School in Quantico, VA. Now, I was a war dog. My dad fetched me at the airport. When we got home, and I was grabbing my sea bag out of the trunk, he turned to me with a real sad look on his face (he had a 100 missions over North Vietnam but would weep if we watched "Ole Yeller"). "Hoss, there's one old soldier you won't be seeing. Rusty's gone." I ain't no stoic. I cry often. Hell, I cried reading your post. But I can remember two times where I've wept with my whole body. That day and the night before I said goodbye to my mom for the last time (on this old cursed rock at least).
A few years ago, my grandaddy started recording his life story for me. He'd speak into a recorder for one hour every week, while my grandmother was at Ladies' Class. The first one began something like this, "Well Janille, I'm not sure where to start, so I guess I'll go ahead and tell you all my dog stories." It sounded similar to this post--some dogs are chosen, some are not. Some you love, some you don't. Either way you remember where they're all buried.
Thank for your beautiful & honest stories Seth! You’ve encouraged me in an exercise to remember….
I walked to Kindergarten by myself (yes, in the 70’s) and one day a little- huge -dog chased me home yipping & nipping at my heels. It struck terror in my wee heart & I could never even entertain the idea of liking a dog…Until… my daughter began asking for a dog when she was the same age as I became terrified of them!
We lived overseas when she was born & between apartment living with 4 kids & our frequent travel, a dog was out of the question. So, my daughter got dog socks, shirts, pajamas, blankets, stuffed animals…. You name it, she had it- except for a real dog.
Then we moved to the states when she was 15 and bought a house with a fenced in yard. No more excuses! That Christmas the doorbell rang & surprise! It was a cat that we decided to adopt. Everyone was thrilled- even my daughter, who couldn’t help but hopelessly voice her wish for her own dog once more. We went back to the living room & a present was placed in her lap. She looked like she knew she was being appeased, but smiled & went to work opening the gift. Inside were 2 bowls with bones on them. She looked up startled, questioning & disbelief in her eyes. We explained we wanted her to pick out the dog she wanted. I will never forget the sobs of joy that ensued.
I even grew to love Cocoa & eventually took her on runs & taught her tricks…. Seems she taught this old dog some of her own.
My dad was a career fighter pilot - 3 wars. In 1965, before he went to Vietnam, when I was seven, he was stationed at Eglin AFB in the panhandle of Florida. He was learning to fly the F-4 Phantom. I was a skinny, frail kid. We moved around, a lot, I didn't have many friends. The folks across the street had a fox terrier puppy - Rusty. I used to play with her every chance I got. Before we left Florida, they gave us Rusty. Maybe there's been a boy that was closer to Rusty than me but I can't believe that. We did everything together. Rusty accompanied me in my many battles. That is where she earned her nom de guerre - Rusty the War Dog. In 1985, I got home from completing Marine Officer Candidate School in Quantico, VA. Now, I was a war dog. My dad fetched me at the airport. When we got home, and I was grabbing my sea bag out of the trunk, he turned to me with a real sad look on his face (he had a 100 missions over North Vietnam but would weep if we watched "Ole Yeller"). "Hoss, there's one old soldier you won't be seeing. Rusty's gone." I ain't no stoic. I cry often. Hell, I cried reading your post. But I can remember two times where I've wept with my whole body. That day and the night before I said goodbye to my mom for the last time (on this old cursed rock at least).
What a story, Bill! Thanks for passing it along.
A few years ago, my grandaddy started recording his life story for me. He'd speak into a recorder for one hour every week, while my grandmother was at Ladies' Class. The first one began something like this, "Well Janille, I'm not sure where to start, so I guess I'll go ahead and tell you all my dog stories." It sounded similar to this post--some dogs are chosen, some are not. Some you love, some you don't. Either way you remember where they're all buried.
It’s funny how we measure our years. Thanks, Janille.
wonderful
Thank for your beautiful & honest stories Seth! You’ve encouraged me in an exercise to remember….
I walked to Kindergarten by myself (yes, in the 70’s) and one day a little- huge -dog chased me home yipping & nipping at my heels. It struck terror in my wee heart & I could never even entertain the idea of liking a dog…Until… my daughter began asking for a dog when she was the same age as I became terrified of them!
We lived overseas when she was born & between apartment living with 4 kids & our frequent travel, a dog was out of the question. So, my daughter got dog socks, shirts, pajamas, blankets, stuffed animals…. You name it, she had it- except for a real dog.
Then we moved to the states when she was 15 and bought a house with a fenced in yard. No more excuses! That Christmas the doorbell rang & surprise! It was a cat that we decided to adopt. Everyone was thrilled- even my daughter, who couldn’t help but hopelessly voice her wish for her own dog once more. We went back to the living room & a present was placed in her lap. She looked like she knew she was being appeased, but smiled & went to work opening the gift. Inside were 2 bowls with bones on them. She looked up startled, questioning & disbelief in her eyes. We explained we wanted her to pick out the dog she wanted. I will never forget the sobs of joy that ensued.
I even grew to love Cocoa & eventually took her on runs & taught her tricks…. Seems she taught this old dog some of her own.
That’s a beautiful story, Elizabeth. Thank you.