Dear Lyla,
As you know, I have one sister and her name is Patti. It would seem that compared to daddy’s five siblings that my household would be fairly tame growing up; but that was not always the case. You see, my sister is exactly 18 months older than I am…to the day! We were so close in age that, once we hit those tween years, we bickered all the time. The reason for that is that were are both a lot a like and very different from one another all at the same time. We are both fiercely independent and so I resented that she was the bossy older sister and she was irked that I didn’t fall in line as I was supposed to. Some days we wanted nothing to do with one another, but we lived so far out in the country we had no one else to play with so often grandma Jo would kick us outside with a stern warning to not come back for a while (we may have gotten on her nerves just a bit). Patti usually chose whatever game we would play. Sometimes it was a fun game of hide and seek, other times it would be a game of horse ride; I was always the horse. Patti and I went to a country church school until we entered Junior High and the fall of my fifth grade year a gentleman from the Humane Society came to our school to teach us about pet safety. This man made it a point to make sure that we knew a lot of dogs get hit by cars on country roads and so it is a good thing to teach your dog to stay away from the road. You may be wondering what method is the best; apparently if you tie a bunch of cans to a string and throw them behind the dog every time he goes near the road it will train him to stay away from it. One of the things Patti and I have in common is that we love dogs, especially Boston Terriers. Our dog at the time, Mutley, was and still is the best dog I have ever known; Patti and I loved him fiercely. We were both dismayed that our family pooch may perish on County Road 1, so Patti devised a training regimen. That weekend we spent the better part of the morning fashioning strings of soda cans together. Late in the afternoon we walked down to the lake with the dog to put our system to the test. Patti figured that we should practice away from the road so that we didn’t accidentally scare Mutley and have him run out into the road. To my eleven year old mind it made perfect sense, so we went with her plan. I believe that I mentioned Mutley is the best dog we have ever owned; there are several reasons for that. Mutley was gentle, friendly and fiercely protective of our family. He was also smart, so smart that he probably saw the folly in our plan from the beginning and began mentally chuckling to himself when he saw the cans on the string. The three of us proceeded to the beach front down by the lake and Patti was ready to direct the afternoon’s exercise. She instructed me let her throw the first set of cans so that Mutley could “get used to the idea of training.” Patti threw those cans as hard as she could and Mutley took off like a shot and disappeared behind the pump house. Patti started signalling like crazy to stay quiet and motioned that we would stealthily sneak up behind the dog and throw the second string. I went one way and she went the other. I thought I heard rustling of leaves behind me, I was so confident that it was Mutley I changed direction and as quickly and as quietly as I could round the corner of the pump house and threw the cans with all my might. I was successful in my attempt to startle with the cans but it wasn’t the dog I had targeted, it was my sister. Patti was so startled that she screamed and jumped in the air. So bad was her fright that she lost control of her bladder right then and there. I must say that once I got over the shock of seeing my sister and not my dog I laughed until tears streamed down my face. Truth be told, I have been chuckling the entire time I have been writing this letter. I suppose I shouldn’t have laughed then and perhaps shouldn’t laugh now, but the truth is, it was funny then and it is funny now. Perhaps you had to have been there to see the look of absolute shock on Patti’s face to truly appreciate the moment; and then again, maybe not. The irony is when we got back to the house Mutley was inside, curled up by the fire and had been for quite some time. The dog had more sense than we did and had quickly tired of our idiocy; he went to hang out with grandma Jo in the house, where it was quiet. What is the moral of the story? I am not quite sure; perhaps it is that we should treasure all the moments of our childhood, good and bad. It could be that life is full of lessons to be learned, even if the teacher is a dog. Or maybe, just maybe, we need a good laugh now and again.
Letters To Lyla 