Posted: Jun 28, 08 10:25pm
He was old. He was fat. He had cataracts and about three remaining teeth, but we never had a better babysitter. Poocher was a beagle a noble heart and better sense than some humans. Our parents weren’t around so much, but Poocher never left us for a minute. He walked my sister three blocks to attend her morning kindergarten class. He knew better than to hang around the school and always came right home. What’s more, he knew what time to go pick her up. I guess even a dog knows when noontime rolls around. He was pretty tolerant most of the time, but he did have a hard look he’d give us when we were acting up. If we didn’t heed that, he’d bark once or twice to make us settle down.
We moved a lot, and not always to the nicest neighborhoods. It was always comforting to have Poocher there at home with us, watching TV or playing out in the yard. Of course he’d bark if anyone strange came around. He wasn’t very big, but he could sound pretty vicious when he wanted to. My sister and I were home alone late one night. The parents were out partying. We were uneasy because we’d been hearing what sounded like footsteps on our bedroom roof at night. We learned some time later that it was a big old tomcat that would climb up there, walk across our roof and hang its head down to watch our caged gerbils play in the moonlight through the window above our dresser. That night, not yet knowing who or what our nocturnal visitor was, we were a little scared and more than a little sleepy.
My sister and I posted Poocher at the back door with strict orders. We said, “Poocher, if anybody tries to come in here - you bite ‘em.” Then we went to bed without a doubt that Poocher would stand guard and keep us safe from anything that might lurk outside our home. Round about midnight, someone did try the door, someone did come into our house and Poocher did bite! We heard the hollering and commotion in the kitchen and bolted out of bed. Poocher was crying like his heart was broken. It was our mother coming home from the bar that he’d mistaken for an intruder and chomped. When his old eyes made out who it really was, he followed her through the house whining a prolonged and anguished apology. My mother just laughed and tried to reassure him as she put some ice on her ankle. He didn’t even break the skin with his three old blunt teeth. Strange that it would, but his pathetic, misguided demonstration of love and loyalty on that night made us girls feel safer than ever in his care.
