Children and animals

In 1995 Lucy and I lived in Shenandoah, Ohio in an old former schoolhouse, and we decided to invest in a couple of young beef cows, a Jersey and a Holstein. One day I was sitting by the fence when my brother-in-law Joe arrived with his family. Five-year-old Jonathan and three-year-old Rachel spotted the animals. Jonathan called out, “Do the cows have names?” “Yes,” I answered, deliberately solicitous, wondering what he would say, and pointing to the Jersey, “that one is Brisket…and that one is Rump Roast.” Jonathan thought for a moment, “Did you name them, or did Lucy?” (We weren’t going to name them but when a neighbor visited and asked the same question, I blurted out a couple of choices I had in mind, just for the humor of it, and the names stuck.)

Kids can be little divils at times, for no apparent reason. I lived in an apartment in a five story building in Maple Shade, New Jersey in 1993. I was coming home Sunday evening and found the elevator door open, as sometimes is the case, but I automatically checked the on/off switch above the button panel. This time it was off. I flipped it on. A 10- to 12-year-old boyI never saw before, carrying roller skates, followed me onto the elevator. I pressed 5; he pressed 3, and the elevator moved upward. Not a word was exchanged. He stood by the button panel and I thought he acted a little strange. He looked like he was leaning against the wall but I saw his hand was over the elevator switch. He was apparently bent on a little mischief at my expense. Just as the elevator stopped at his floor, he gave a cough and headed for the open door. The switch was off. Just before stepping out he patronizingly exclaimed, “Fifth floor, right?” as he pressed the number 5 button. He stepped outside and I replied, “Right,” as I stepped forward and flipped the switch back on. The last scene before the door closed was he staring at me with a rather wide-eyed and not-so-innocent expression on his face—and I with a benign expression on my face I’m sure, staring back at him. I almost took it personally…a real live Tom Sawyer.

I wrote the above to a penfriend of mine, Paul, who is a retired schoolteacher. He wrote about his experiences with children:

"You mentioned about the youngster playing a prank on you on the elevator. This is typical of children and I must say I enjoyed all the children who tried to outsmart me in the classroom or on the playground, wherever they thought they had a chance to best me. It was such a hard task to keep a straight face when knowing what they intended to do to me, that I was there waiting for them when they were about to pull the string which would bring something down on me. I looked innocent and unaware of what they planned, but noted out of the corner of my eye the surprise on their faces when caught in their own mischief! I never got angry at their pranks, but loved them for trying to get me in any sort of trick. Some teachers would blow their gasket. I merely played it cool and laughed myself to tears at times when they found out I had caught them."I always felt they were thinking when they tried to outsmart me, and since most of their pranks were harmless, I didn't mind. They knew my temperament and knew that I could give as good as I got, so they had to be careful, for I would hand things back to the Tom Sawyers of the room, and look so innocent while in the process."

I lived in Maple Shade, NJ, in the 90s, like I said earlier. Along came school time and the bus driver picked up young people from the apartments to take to school. The problem was that she chose to park the bus right at the exit to take on the numerous children. Of course, many of us had to go to work at the same time and we were forced to wait for the straggling kids to get onto the bus. And they were sure to take their time. Several of us auto drivers had to wait, but then I had an idea. I knew the others were not happy about being forced to wait for the bus to leave. In a burst of temperamental inspiration, I got out of line, darting down a row of parked cars, taking a long way around away from the bus, to leave for work. A couple of others followed. The bus driver blew her horn. It worked! The next school day saw the bus at the far end of the parking lot taking on the regular load of kids. For the rest of the school year we had no problem.

In 2003 Lucy and I moved to our present location, along with Jason and Minerva, Lucy’s niece. They bought a boxer pup and named it Bruno. I’m the kind of person who doesn’t want a pet anymore (see PENNY, Nov. 19, 2007), but Bruno was a dog I doted on, and he appreciated the attention. He was locked up at night to keep him from wandering. Then one morning, before dawn, there was a knock on the door. A woman, rather distraught, asked if we had a dog. “Yes, we have a boxer.” She said she hit a dog and it was lying by the road. I investigated and found Bruno lying on the grass, unable to get up, but conscious. I called Jason and he came with his pickup truck and took it to the house. I told the woman that Bruno was supposed to be inside during the night and this was one time when that rule was forgotten. Later in the morning they took Bruno to the vet. The xrays showed him to have numerous broken bones and it was merciful to put him to sleep. I was saddened by it although he was not my dog. That is one reason I don’t care to have a pet.

The first pet I had was Tuffy, in 1954, and my brother Ron had a dog named Fluffy. They were playful dogs, but Tuffy was more rambunctious, being a male dog. In the barn Tuffy got into mischief so often that Dad was finally fed up with it. While I was elsewhere he gave it the death penalty and I saw Tuffy no more. Dad was not a cruel person but it was rather ignoble of him to have someone carry out the sentence for him, leaving me without a pet. Meanwhile, Fluffy carried on, until one day Dorothy Weaver, who lived in the house below ours, was driving down the lane toward her house and I crossed the lane with Fluffy following me, and she got run over right in front of me. I was sick at heart and pronounced guilty by my family of causing her demise. Is it any wonder I don’t want a pet anymore? Years later I was given a puppy in reward for the summer work I performed on our neighbor’s farm. Penny was an intelligent dog and I was happy to have her as a pet. But, as seems to be my lot, she died unexpectedly when a motorcycle came roaring by our place. Penny was across the road with my parents and, frightened, she ran back for the safety of the house, and ran into the motorcycle. My cousin Arvin later apologized to me, but that was the end of my keeping any pet.

These are rather sad stories but it is advantageous to understand that we will most likely meet our pets when we finish our own time here on earth. That is a thought a lot of people like to believe, because so many pets are loved and treated like loving children.