Monday, September 12, 2016

Red dog

Joe would always hold him by his lead, pronounced leed, that old red dog. And old Red Dog, he was waiting patiently all the time, holdin' himself back, chompin' at the bit. Never pulling, never a strain on the leed. Waiting to speed down that alley, very certain himself, wanting to be sure to protect Pops and Grandpa Joe from all the evils which might lie ahead as they made their way to the old barn. Then Joe would release him, and he would tear down the alley to clear it of dangers real and suspected. I saw that a lot.

You see, Joe had been threatened at the old barn recently, me grandfather havin' been held up at gunpoint twice within two weeks shortly before he discovered that dog. He had been surprised before then. He would be surprised no more.

So he found old red dog somewhere. And he would be surprised not again.

I've no idea no more where he found that old dog. I ain't yet seen a dog looked so unusual as he, even down to his fire red coat. Square head, medium body, medium build, he was an unusual dog. A mountain fiest, perhaps, thought that is a shot in the dark. He was too stocky. That old red dog loved me Grandpa Joe anyway, an unusual ideal itself. He would protect him.

Joe himself marveled at the how much the dog loved him. That old dog listened to all he said. That old dog stayed still in the old barn mostly during the day, but would quietly follow a suspected soul daytimes until it left, without being instructed. That impressed Grandpa Joe.

Joe would say, 'Hey dog' and the dog would play with him, dancing and prancing as Joe repeatedly said the refrain. 'Hey dog' was a mantra.

I saw it many times. That old red dog loved Grandpa Joe. It was perhaps unconditional love at its best.

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