Jack the dog
This is a story about Jack the dog and it is mostly true.
My maternal grandfather was a remarkable man. His first name was Dennis. He came over from Ireland prior to our involvement in WWI because his brothers wanted him to leave before the trouble started. He raised 9 children and all but one finished high school, 4 went to college, 4 were in WWII, 2 were nuns and there were over 30 grandchildren. He stayed employed all through the depression.
One of the jobs he had during the 30s was as an independent milkman. He had his own truck and would pick up his milk and dairy products from the dairy and deliver them to the customers on his route daily. The truck had his name written on the side in great big letters. We have a photo of him standing in front of it. His milkman hat is cocked at an angle, he has a half smile on his face and looks as rakish as an Irishman with 9 children to feed during the depression can.
One of the customers on his route had a dog named Jack, a big beautiful German Shepard. Dennis liked Jack and he would occasionally take one of the hubcaps off his truck, fill it with chocolate milk and give it to Jack. So Jack liked my Dennis. He liked him so much he would follow him along on his route. Sometimes the whole way back to the dairy or even back to my grandfather's house. Sometimes Jack would go home on his own and sometimes my grandfather would drop him off.
One day Jack followed Dennis back to the dairy and was hanging around outside while grandpa was deep inside the dairy doing something or other. Urgent word came down to "have McDennis get out to the front door right now." So he hustled on out to find Jack with teeth bared and hackles up, keeping the owner of the dairy from entering. Jack was guarding the place for Dennis. My grandfather told Jack it was ok so Jack let the owner into his dairy.
I don't know what happened to Jack.
There is another story my Mom tells about my grandpa. He worked hard to feed all those children and when he got home he was tired and would lie on the couch to take a nap. One afternoon uncles Tommy, Eddy and my Mom were in the backyard playing and Eddy hurt his arm and it was all twisted. They ran in told my grandfather. He got up, looked at Eddy's arm and said in the most tired, world weary voice "Oh my God, it's broken." When Tommy heard him say that he wanted to reassure him so he said "No it's not Pop! He can wiggle his fingers. Go ahead Eddy, wiggle your fingers!" So Eddy held up his broken arm, grimaced and slowly wiggled his fingers. "See Pop! He's OK. He can wiggle his fingers."
I like that story.
My maternal grandfather was a remarkable man. His first name was Dennis. He came over from Ireland prior to our involvement in WWI because his brothers wanted him to leave before the trouble started. He raised 9 children and all but one finished high school, 4 went to college, 4 were in WWII, 2 were nuns and there were over 30 grandchildren. He stayed employed all through the depression.
One of the jobs he had during the 30s was as an independent milkman. He had his own truck and would pick up his milk and dairy products from the dairy and deliver them to the customers on his route daily. The truck had his name written on the side in great big letters. We have a photo of him standing in front of it. His milkman hat is cocked at an angle, he has a half smile on his face and looks as rakish as an Irishman with 9 children to feed during the depression can.
One of the customers on his route had a dog named Jack, a big beautiful German Shepard. Dennis liked Jack and he would occasionally take one of the hubcaps off his truck, fill it with chocolate milk and give it to Jack. So Jack liked my Dennis. He liked him so much he would follow him along on his route. Sometimes the whole way back to the dairy or even back to my grandfather's house. Sometimes Jack would go home on his own and sometimes my grandfather would drop him off.
One day Jack followed Dennis back to the dairy and was hanging around outside while grandpa was deep inside the dairy doing something or other. Urgent word came down to "have McDennis get out to the front door right now." So he hustled on out to find Jack with teeth bared and hackles up, keeping the owner of the dairy from entering. Jack was guarding the place for Dennis. My grandfather told Jack it was ok so Jack let the owner into his dairy.
I don't know what happened to Jack.
There is another story my Mom tells about my grandpa. He worked hard to feed all those children and when he got home he was tired and would lie on the couch to take a nap. One afternoon uncles Tommy, Eddy and my Mom were in the backyard playing and Eddy hurt his arm and it was all twisted. They ran in told my grandfather. He got up, looked at Eddy's arm and said in the most tired, world weary voice "Oh my God, it's broken." When Tommy heard him say that he wanted to reassure him so he said "No it's not Pop! He can wiggle his fingers. Go ahead Eddy, wiggle your fingers!" So Eddy held up his broken arm, grimaced and slowly wiggled his fingers. "See Pop! He's OK. He can wiggle his fingers."
I like that story.
posted by Carl at 7:20 AM
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