At two years of my age we had two hunting dogs; Pepper and Pete.
They were "Irish Settlers" a lovely rust color and I loved
lounging on the floor with them in the winter months, before the
fire. I don't remember, but I was told this was so. Age four, we
had a "Lab Or Door Receiver" hearsay has it, he would not let me
out of the front yard. He would push me back into bounds with his
soft nose in my back.

Mom said he was the best babysitter she had ever. His name was
"Big Jack". He was a good hunting dog. Daddy and he went into the woods
together often. Duck and deer season afforded us great menu at table.
This was also true of "Little Jack". Little because he was young. Dad
trained him up to be a good companion, on his forays into the wooded lands.

It was a shame he would never reach maturity. I will never forget that
terrible Winter's day... Dad got my sister and me from school (we
usually walked to and from) He stopped the car on the hard packed
dirt road, not entering the driveway. Telling Coral and me to stay put,
he sprinted to the yard. We saw him scoop something into his arms, wrapped
in his coat. Opening the trunk he put that" something" gently inside. Later
that night, we heard Daddy telling Mom that the tire tracks suggested that it
was a heavy vehicle that killed our darling dog. "He" must have backed onto
the yard to do the deed. Dad said that he would check for a match in
patterns, and go from there.

Dad found blood on the back of the bus. In the next week, Mr Joseph stopped
driving the McGregor elementary school bus. In addition to his bragging about
knowing how to get rid of pests. He was banished from the only Bar in town, and
spurned by the men of the county. He wore his two black eyes like a guilty confession!