Tales from the Backyard…When we moved to Boston,
it was time for a new dog, so looking through the want ads I saw a Brittany
spaniel for sale in nearby New Hampshire.
From great hunting stock and good
on grouse; perfect I thought and gave them a call. We picked him up that weekend and named him
Jasper. Small for his breed (for some
reason all my dogs seem to be), he not only turned out to be a great hunting
dog but was an even better family pet.
This one lived in the house with us.
His only fatal problem in life was that the other side of the road was
always better than the one he was on.
We were visiting my 1st wife’s parents in Minnesota when from the front lawn I saw Jasper dash across the street up by my brother-in-laws house, not a busy street, so I yelled at him to get back and saw him sneaking his way back to the road, then he started to dash across just as a car was coming. I could do nothing but watch. (This part is really bad so if you have children around they may want to go into the other room.) He got nailed and rolled several times under the car. I ran to him, he was stiff as a board lying on the hot pavement, but still had shinny eyes so I could see he wasn't dead. He couldn't move so I thought “broken back, nothing can be done”. I scooped him up, tears in my eyes and started to the house. All the neighbors had heard the tires screech and were at the side of the road watching. My wife came running down the road and I said that he’s broken his back, go home and get a hammer. The neighbors were aghast. She began to protest but I said, this is bad enough, just get the hammer. She did. (Stop! Stop! Stop! I must confess, I have embellished a bit here. Firstly I was in shock from just seeing my dog get hit by a car, and secondly, with no tears in my eyes when my wife ran up I probably would have screamed something like “get the fucking hammer”, but I like the first version better. Everything else is as is.) By the time I reached the yard with the dog, still stiff in my arms, she had arrived with the hammer. Jasper looked at the hammer, just with his eyes, head not moving, moving his eyes to look at me, then looked back at the hammer, back to me and knowing his finality, just jumped out of my arms and ran around the house, not once but twice shouting, “I’m alright, I’m alright” just to be sure. He was run over four more times before the last one was fatal, by then he was old and I was gone.
We were visiting my 1st wife’s parents in Minnesota when from the front lawn I saw Jasper dash across the street up by my brother-in-laws house, not a busy street, so I yelled at him to get back and saw him sneaking his way back to the road, then he started to dash across just as a car was coming. I could do nothing but watch. (This part is really bad so if you have children around they may want to go into the other room.) He got nailed and rolled several times under the car. I ran to him, he was stiff as a board lying on the hot pavement, but still had shinny eyes so I could see he wasn't dead. He couldn't move so I thought “broken back, nothing can be done”. I scooped him up, tears in my eyes and started to the house. All the neighbors had heard the tires screech and were at the side of the road watching. My wife came running down the road and I said that he’s broken his back, go home and get a hammer. The neighbors were aghast. She began to protest but I said, this is bad enough, just get the hammer. She did. (Stop! Stop! Stop! I must confess, I have embellished a bit here. Firstly I was in shock from just seeing my dog get hit by a car, and secondly, with no tears in my eyes when my wife ran up I probably would have screamed something like “get the fucking hammer”, but I like the first version better. Everything else is as is.) By the time I reached the yard with the dog, still stiff in my arms, she had arrived with the hammer. Jasper looked at the hammer, just with his eyes, head not moving, moving his eyes to look at me, then looked back at the hammer, back to me and knowing his finality, just jumped out of my arms and ran around the house, not once but twice shouting, “I’m alright, I’m alright” just to be sure. He was run over four more times before the last one was fatal, by then he was old and I was gone.
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