The First Mister

We ended up living in Simi Valley, just one canyon away from the big San Fernando Valley of Valley Girl fame. My dad barely lived a year after his retirement. A couple of months before his sudden death, he came home with a small bundle of fur. It was our first dog, a small Wire Haired Fox Terrier he named Mister Patches. Mister, he said, was the runt of the litter from his friend's breeding pair. We all loved that dog. When Daddy died, we all thought that Mister would follow his Master, but he ended up living a long full life.

One afternoon my mom had new living room furniture delivered. This was the first brand new furniture I can ever remember her getting. She was really excited, but wasn't quite sure exactly how she wanted it arranged. She had the delivery men put the pieces down, then almost immediately had them move them around. She looked at it and once again had them shuffle the pieces.

Finally the two men headed for their truck, making tracks fairly quickly. I think they were afraid they were going to be trapped in an all-day redecorating cycle. As they left, Mom glanced out the front window and saw Mister merrily trotting along behind the men toward their truck. She raced out of the front door and yelled, "Mister, you get your butt back in this house!"

Both men turned around and started walking slowly back toward her, looking resigned and dejected, but obedient. The dog kept pace. She then had to explain in embarrassment that the dog's name was Mister, and that they could go on to their truck. As she grabbed the dog, they wasted no time making their exit. Mom never lived that one down.

She figured Daddy had named the dog Mister knowing that eventually the name would get her in trouble. At least she wasn't in as bad a fix as Grandma. Daddy's mother finally refused to call their dog in at all. Grandpa named their dog 'Dammit' and the blessed dog would never answer to any other name as long as it lived.

The Escape Artist

Mr. Baggins was a great dog. He was a Wire Haired Fox Terrier, and shared our home and life when the boys were young. He was very smart. After several years with us, he suddenly turned into an escape artist.

Our back yard had chain link fences that were about five feet tall. Mr. Baggins was a sturdy dog, about twenty pounds. When he started getting out of the yard, we naturally started looking for holes under the fences. Digging is not uncommon with terriers. We never found a hole, but just to make sure, John put logs around the edges of the fence line. The next time Baggins went out in the yard, he again disappeared. Within about five minutes the front doorbell rang, and a neighbor came over with the dog in his arms. "Here he is again."

We tried staying in the yard with him, but he'd just sit there and watch us watching him. Finally, we let him out alone and went to a window and crouched down, hidden from view. Mr. Baggins sauntered through the yard, actually looking in the windows. When he decided he was really alone, and not being watched, he walked to the corner of the house.

Once there, the little rascal turned and faced the far corner of the yard. You could almost hear the music from the Lone Ranger as he galloped across the yard, picking up speed. Three feet from the corner was the boys' little round exercise trampoline. A couple of feet short of that, Mr. Baggins took a mighty leap. He hit that trampoline with all four legs stiff and straight, and bounded up from there to the very top of the chain link fence, where he balanced for about two seconds. Then he just popped off onto the sidewalk on the other side.

Didn't I say he was smart? He did have his limitations, though. Once we moved that trampoline, he never could figure out how to move it back into position. And that was his final escape.