carving memories

Mama called Lassie Boy and me her second litter. Seven years separated him and the next youngest, and another three years after I was born, the last of five.

It's funny how some memories bring tears and others joy. Some bring a little of both, carving memory tracks so deeply that the lessons learned never leave.

My earliest memory is of our dog Rex when he was jes a slip of a pup, hiding under the kitchen table, his angry bark warning whatever had frightened him that a reckonin' was comin'.

But rememberin’ the pup means rememberin’ Rex grown old and blind. After the third time that our poor dog tried to helplessly cross the road in front of a passing car, the wheels shrieking as the driver braked and swerved to avoid it, Daddy said it was time to put him out of his misery.

The followin' mornin' Lassie Boy and I dug a grave for him in the backyard afore leavin' for school. We returned straight home followin’ our lessons and I went out on the porch to say goodbye to him, pettin' Rex gently when I discovered that he wasn't sleepin' but dead.

I feel my shock and sense of betrayal even now, and I'm not ashamed to say that I began to bawl my eyes out then and there. Lassie Boy rushed out onto the porch when he heard me, and he fixed to bawling himself. He put his arm around my shoulder and said Come on Koot and we walked into the kitchen and sat at the table with Mama and she began to bawl too.

Next daddy came into the kitchen. Pretty sure he felt bad that Lassie Boy and I couldn't say goodbye to ole Rex, but he sat there and didn't say nuthin, three of us bawling and him staring at the sugar bowl in the table's center like it had more to say than him.

Our daddy wasn't a crier but his eyes got red, his hair stickin' out the sides of his head like Dagwood Bumstead. If we weren't all so damn miserable, we would'a laughed out loud.

But when the dam was ready to burst, he roared - Gawd dammit to hell and back! and smacked the table so hard it sounded like a rifle shot. Mama, me and Lassie Boy fairly jump'd from our chairs with fright.

Stompin’ out of the room, the echo of his heavy steps followed him down the hall, the bathroom door slammin' behind him.

After we recovered and settled back in our chairs, Lassie Boy gave the table a comic whack and we fixed to laugh and cry in equal measure.

Daddy meant well and we all knew it. He loved poor Rex but dared not share his tears with us. But we knew he had grieved just the same and with him dead and buried long since, the memory of his hidden tears means so much more to me now.