Blue Jeans, Blue Skies, and Best Friends

When I was about ten, a black and white part Cocker Spaniel, entered the fold. Sport, named after Davy Crockett's dog, was sweet but he had to learn not to chase chickens and it took Lassie to teach him. He didn't pay much attention to my dad's scolding. One day he was kicking up dust behind a fat red hen and Lassie streaked across that yard, struck him like lightning, and sent him rolling like a bowling ball. Before he could get up she leaped on top of him snarling and growling and my dad had to pull her off him. He never chased another chicken.

Many other animals lived with us during my childhood. There was the cat with five kittens my dad found in a cold alley while he was night watchman. Tina, Goody, Mitzy, Tinker, Daisy, and Pie Pie all lived out their lives on our farm and patiently put up with me dressing them in doll clothes. There was Toppy, the Bantam chicken, who perched on my arm and clucked his affection for me. There was Milky Way, the guinea pig, who wore a tiny denim harness my mom made, and various rabbits, sheep, pigeons and other fowl, and even a few rehabilitating wild creatures. Each and every one taught me something special but none ever quite reached the exalted place in my heart that Lassie held.

Recently my daughter and I drove out to the old home place again. The pasture sits empty and weeds cover the field where my dad and ol' Bill once labored in the summer sun, but the clear blue skies, grasshopper 'music' and oak trees haven't changed much. A warm summer breeze brushed my face and, for a fleeting moment, I heard Lassie's excited barks echo across the field, calling me to come see the squirrel.