Our Dog Skizzle - a short story.

“Wow! A dog!” I stared open mouthed as Daddy sat the dog on the kitchen floor. He wasn’t a big dog, or a little one, just a perfect in between size.

“His name is Skizzle. Be careful with him until he gets to know you.”

My brother, Jimmy, and I exchanged grins. Was this for real? In my entire 10 years on earth, we’d never had a dog.

Daddy left the room to change out of his uniform. We sat in the floor and let Skizzle sniff our hands, our feet. After checking us out, he toured the house, then settled at Daddy’s feet in the living room.

(This picture is of me and Skizzle in front of our house in Waco.)

Jimmy leaned over and nudged me. “Linda. Ask Daddy if he’s ours.” You know how the youngest is elected to ask and more apt to get their way.

“Daddy. Are we keeping him? Is he our dog?”

“Yes. We’ll keep him. If we can train him.” He explained that fox terriers were feisty dogs and stubborn. Skizzle had been given away because he wouldn’t mind his previous owners and the wife was afraid of him. His fate was Daddy or the pound.

This was hard for us to comprehend. Daddy was a Master Sergeant in the Air Force. He ruled our household though Mama dethroned him on certain issues. When told to do something, we obeyed without questions. We sat up straight at the table and carried our fork to our mouth. No propping your elbow on the table and leaning over your plate to reach your fork. We couldn’t imagine a mere dog not minding Daddy.

That night Mama made a bed for Skizzle in the half bath in Jimmy’s bedroom. Skizzle had to be one special dog to get to stay in the house. Daddy grew up on a farm and believed the place for animals was outside.

It’s important to understand the temperament of the fox terrier breed. They are willful, smart and need firm obedience training. Loaded with energy, they love to play and are loyal and devoted pets. A pure breed fox terrier, Skizzle was all this and more. But, he hadn’t had firm obedience training.

The first week was uneventful. Skizzle got to know us and became comfortable in his new home. Then one-day, in the second week, things changed.

Few homes were air conditioned in the 1950’s. We used water coolers or swamp coolers as they’re known in some areas. Not an efficient way of cooling in humid central Texas but it was all we had. And since the bed was directly in front of the airflow, it was a cool spot. There lay Skizzle—smack dab in the middle of Mama and Daddy’s bed. He was chillin’.

Daddy snapped his fingers. “Get down, Skizzle.”

Skizzle looked up and wagged his tail.

Daddy advanced closer to the bed.

“DOWN, GET OFF THE BED.”

Skizzle bared his teeth and growled. Jimmy and I were horrified. Nobody talked to Daddy that way. Not that he’d harm us but his stern look could turn a pouting face into a smile.

Skizzle became airborne the second he realized he wouldn’t win this fracas, flew through the air, landed on the floor and skittered for cover. Daddy didn’t have to do all of the slinging. After dinner his obedience training began—Skizzle was in boot camp.

If there were dog obedience schools back then, we didn’t know about them. People trained their own pets.

Camp began that evening in the garage. Daddy attached a rope to Skizzle’s collar and stepped six feet away. Jimmy and I sat on the steps and watched.

Daddy sat on his haunches at eye level with Skizzle. He whistled.

“Come, Skizzle. Come here, boy.” He patted his leg and pulled on the rope.

Skizzle sat and dug in his paws.

Daddy called again and tugged. Skizzle resisted.

Daddy tried one more time and when Skizzle didn’t move, Daddy yanked him across the garage to him.

The house echoed with howls and curses of the tug of war between Skizzle and Daddy. I didn’t know who would win. Both were determined. I tried to watch. Five minutes and I ran to my room. I covered my head with my pillow.

It took a week. Skizzle didn’t show any signs of abuse but Daddy sported a bite on his hand. From then on when Daddy said, “sit” Skizzle sat and when he said, “stay” Skizzle didn’t move. Not only did he mind Daddy but Mama and us kids too.

You might think Daddy’s dog training method cruel. At the time, I did. It was tough but he never hurt the dog. Skizzle wasn’t afraid of Daddy or cowed like an abused animal. He was crazy about Daddy. Every morning when Daddy kissed Mama goodbye he’d give her a couple of pats on the shoulder or back. Skizzle thought he was hurting Mama and would grab Daddy’s pant leg and around they’d go. Daddy loved it. And tolerated it because Skizzle was protecting Mama. When Jimmy and I fought, as brother and sister are apt to do, Skizzle didn’t like it. He jumped in the middle. He never grabbed our skin, only our clothes.

He was extremely smart. One spring he was sick—throwing up and feverish. He had the Asiatic flu. They had to sedate and muzzle him to treat him. When Mama brought him home from the Vets, he was drunk from the medicine he’d been given.

Since his bed was in Jimmy’s bathroom, if he threw up, it was easy to clean up. Mama would hold him over the toilet sometimes. When we weren’t home, he tried to throw up in the toilet. Being short, he got it on the seat. We’d always thought him a cut above other dogs. From then on we knew so.

Skizzle was a wonderful friend. He loved to play hide-and-seek and chase. Because of our hard wood floors, he usually skidded past his target but quickly regained purchase and made a grab for your pants leg. He always won at both games.

A constant companion, he went everywhere we went. He’d ride on top of the backrest in daddy’s pickup truck, right behind his head. If we stopped all of a sudden, he fell down daddy’s back. All our friends and family knew Skizzle. The gas station owner loved to aggravate him. Skizzle hated him. He’d bare his teeth and bark and snarl. The man would laugh. I always wondered what would’ve happened if Daddy had let him out of the truck.

One day we came home from school to find Skizzle gone. We searched the entire neighborhood hoping to find him in someone’s house as we had once before. But he was nowhere to be found. Daddy believed someone stole him knowing he was a registered dog. He’d been loaned out several times for breeding purposes.

We were heartbroken. Fortunately we were older, teenagers then with other activities and people in our lives. But we mourned for a long time.

Jimmy and I are both in our sixties now. To this day we cherish fond memories of Skizzle’s love and companionship. He was our friend in happy and sad times, never condemning or scolding. He was some dog.

Yep. Skizzle was some dog.

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Thanks for reading!

Linda

Linda LaRoque ~ Western Romance with a Twist in Time.
Forever Faithful, Investment of the Heart 5-09, When the Ocotillo Bloom, 7-09, Champagne Books; A Law of Her Own, Desires of the Heart, My Heart Will Find Yours 5-09, Flames on the Sky 10-23-09 from TWRP.
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