My Dog Missy

When my brother and I were kids, growing up in West Bridgewater, Massachusetts, we were too young to be employed, other than being normal sons, that was our sole purpose we thought. As such, we needed to have a furry friend, to amuse us, follow us, and accept us with never any repercussions for telling her no, or whacking her with a newspaper when she would chase a car down Spring Street. My brother, Chris and I employed her and named her Missy. She was a golden color and a mix of German Shepherd and Collie and faithful to a fault. In many ways, she was helpful. She barked and made sure all creatures large and small knew they were not welcomed in our yard, or to appear in any way to harm Chris or I or our other siblings when they came along. By all standards, Missy handled the job of being part of the family, very well.

At 361 Spring Street, we entered the house through a side door on the driveway side. There was a large closed in and heated sun porch/mudroom, before going through the door that most people would lock today, but rarely then, and into our kitchen. It was this porch, where Missy would lay her head each night, first on an old navy blanket and then on old couch cushions, which seem to get larger and softer the older she got. When she was young she incessantly barked every time a leaf fell or the milkman would come by, in her later days, she would meet the same disturbances by simply raising her head before she would react, if it was one of us, now married guys, her tail would start wagging; but she would only get up if we got down and gave her some loving hugs.

She was playful and loved to chase us and loved to chase the ball no matter where we threw it, even into Snell’s field out behind our house, which was tall hay for most of the year, she might be gone for ten minutes, but we’d fall over laughing when she’d return and drop that ball at our feet, wanting us to throw it somewhere closer next time. What Missy seemed to love the most, however, was chasing cars; not all cars, just some cars. It made us crazy as we tried to prevent her from doing it, often with a rolled-up newspaper, or pulling her by the scruff of the neck back into our yard. It made my father angry too, thinking she would be killed or one of us might get hurt trying to stop her. A friend of my father told him to drill a hole in a 2x4 about 3 feet long, and hang it from her collar. He did, but when she chased a car, it only tripped her up and she’d still try to get up and continue the chase. We always asked why, and until now I never knew. The next couple of lines will give us a clue:

4 Reasons Dogs Suddenly Chase Cars

• Mistaken as Prey. Your dog is an animal with fierce predatory instincts. They naturally chase down prey that could feed the pack.

• Protecting Territory. It is no secret that dogs are territorial. ...

• Loneliness and Boredom. Chasing cars may be the byproduct of a lonely pup. ...

• Bad Habits. Your dog may have incorporated car-chasing into their daily routine. ...

I Think the first one didn’t apply, but the last three seem reasonable. We got her when she was already almost a year old, and have no idea how was treated prior to becoming part of our family.

She did have an interesting twitch on the top of her head, that could be clearly seen when she rested, someone told us she may have been a distemper survivor and that’s why. Again, that seemed like a reasonable explanation. One afternoon, a friend of our family, Bill Murphy came by, and noticed it. Bill, worked for Otis Elevator, and with his wife Dorothy (Dot), had eleven children, some of whom we went to school with and church as well. Bill got down on the porch floor with Missy and talked to her while stroking the twitch, he did this for twenty minutes or so, then got up, patted Missy on the head and rejoined the family get-together. It was the last time we ever saw the twitch.

My brother and I played baseball in the summer and rode our bikes everywhere in our small town, to play. The field up on North Elm, and Grant Streets, over to a field over on Matfield Street and of course Legion Field as well as the high school. This when we couldn’t get enough kids to play at the Sunset Avenue School, behind our house. When we were younger, it was fun to watch Missy go after the ball, but now we were mature early teens and our friends didn’t much appreciate her display of ball gathering acumen. So, much too her displeasure, we would ask Mama to make sure to keep Missy on the back porch for at least 15 minutes, to give us plenty of time to bike our way to which ever field we were going to play. Missy did not like this at all, but it didn’t matter, because no matter what field we were playing at, when we arrived, Missy was sitting there like a queen on her throne, waiting for us to carry out her next order. One time, mama told us, she heard a noise on the porch and when she looked, all she could see was a broken window screen and the backside of a yellow dog running away from the house.

It’s necessary to look back on our days with Missy, she, like us, got older and ceased from chasing cars and anything that came into or yard, as she continued doing her job, but more sedentary.

It was good time to be a dog, unfettered as today, by being tied up or walked so you could do your duty. Missy, I’m sure did hers in the woods or other people’s yards, and those folks did what we had to, when another dog dared to make a deposit in our yard. Pick it up with a shovel and dispose of or step in it, step number one was better than step number two. Other than that, she and many other West Bridgewater dogs ran free, not in packs, but mostly in their own territory.

As I grew older, I dated and later married a girl from 5 or 6 house down from us at 361, she lived at 403. One fall, very chilly night, she and I were quietly getting jiggy with it on her front porch and as I was assuming the top missionary position, Missy jumped up on the chaise with us, assuming her job of the doggy position on my back. I yelled at her, my girlfriend screamed, lights came on, and a wonderful evening was spoiled. Missy didn’t know, and in time, I forgave her. I would be married soon anyway, and there would be no more threesomes in my future.

Several years later, while I worked as a buyer at Hallsmith-Sysco, a foodservice distributor, my phone rang and I answered to a distraught mother, saying David over and over. Her anxiety could only mean that something horrific had happened to my dad or a sibling, after she regained herself a bit, she cried out saying, “David, your brother Chris just had to take Missy to the vet to be put to sleep”, she began weeping again and I admit some of my own too. It had been so long, since I’d seen her, but evidently her German Shepherd part caused her hips to go, and she couldn’t even get up from her cushion.

At 74, I think about the noise I make getting out of a chair and think of Missy. She was not only a great employee, but a great friend, giving all she had for as long as she could, if only humans worked that way.