Church Dog

Church Dog
Sunday mornings are a leisurely time in many households, but they certainly weren't in our Ogilvie, Minnesota home back in the late 1920s.
Church services began at nine-thirty in the morning. Mother was the organist, so she had to be there early. That meant all of us kids had to be washed and dressed with our hair neatly combed by the time Mother left the house.
As you'd expect, there was a lot of hurrying around to make sure everyone was ready on time. That was trouble enough, but one day, we had another problem on our hands: our dog, Brownie.
Every morning, Brownie was let out by the first person who got up. When we called him back in, he'd usually come running right away, but not on this particular Sunday.
We called and coaxed for as long as we could, but Brownie was simply nowhere to be found. Unable to locate our disappearing dog, we gave up in despair and headed off to church, leaving Brownie outdoors somewhere.
We arrived at church and got settled in, with Mother at the organ. After some hymns and prayers, the minister began his sermon. We kids tried to sit still, just as we had been told to do, and not fidget. But as the preacher began to warm to his subject, I thought I heard something unusual. No one else seemed to hear it though. But then it came again, louder. It sounded like something was scratching at the church door. We kids all exchanged silent glances and stifled our giggles. Then the scratching sound was followed by the plaintive sound of a lonely dog howling. All the grown-ups pretended not to hear anything, leaning forward in their pews so that they could hear every word of the minister's oration. But we kids knew that howl. Only one dog in the neighborhood made that sound.
The wailing continued and the minister paused for a moment, furrowing his brow in frustration. He didn't want to have to compete with a howling hound, so he signaled to the usher to open the door and shoo the dog away. But the usher was not quick enough for Brownie. As soon as he opened the door, in bounded our dog with a smug look on his face! He strolled up the aisle, cool as you please, as the congregation and minister looked on aghast. When Brownie got to where Mother sat at the organ, he just plopped down and sat quietly. A murmur went around the church and there were some smiles and nodding of heads. The minister, determined to ignore this unusual canine caper, resumed his sermon.
The following Sunday happened to be one of those rare Sundays when we didn't go to the morning service. However, no one had informed Brownie of the change in our schedule. After we attended the evening service, we heard the story. In the morning, Brownie had made a commotion at the church door until once again, he was let in. Again, he sauntered down the aisle until he reached the organist, who was about to begin playing. Brownie stood stock-still for a moment, staring at the female organist. Then when he had determined to his satisfaction that she was definitely not Mother, he returned to the church door and made it clear that he was not interested in attending this particular service.
There were many Sundays when Brownie repeated his demonstrations of religious piety and family loyalty. As you can imagine, this was quite embarrassing for Mother. There were some people who weren't all that happy to see a dog in church. And each time we got a new preacher, Mother had to explain our unusual dog to him. Since Brownie lived to be nineteen years old, quite a few preachers got used to having that little brown dog interrupt their Sunday services.
Shortly after Brownie passed away, our minister came to call. After consoling us over our loss, he said, "If there is a heaven for dogs, you can be assured Brownie will be scratching at the door, and when it is opened, he will be given a place right up front with the best of them."

Thought this was a cute story for all the little ones....enjoy~~~!
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another Piece

Morning all my Greats~~~!

I watched a Parrot talking today on Good Morning America. It reminded me of our talking birds and I thought you might like to hear about them.

Our life with birds began with a canary that the next door neighbor gave me as the neighbor was getting to old to care for it. They called it Dickie...Well Dickie Bird just didn't fit the little yellow guy. He was a timid little bird and a beautiful singer. I named him Timothy.

Ronnie was one that roamed the Spokane River banks with a fishing pole and one day he came home with a Crow. The crow had an injured leg and he held it high under his feathers and hopped about on one leg. Ronnie named him Mac. Now Mac didn't talk but he was a wonderful pet. He hopped about with Ronnie everytime he was in the yard and he never hopped away. They would dig worms for Mac to eat together. He rode everywhere on Ronnie's bike handles and would wait outside on the bike while Ronnie ran errands etc. When Ronnie went to Scout camp we took Mac down to Nat Park and gave him to their bird zoo. He had a nice big cage to live in and we would go visit him. One day the cage was filled with black feathers and Mac was gone. Everyone missed Mac. Ronnie was sad.

The next summer Ronnie was down at the river again and some boys were shooting at MagPies. Now a Magpie is a beautiful black and and white bird a little bigger than crows. These boys shot the mom and there were four babies in the nest without a mom anymore. Ronnie brought them all home and we tried to keep them alive but three of them died. Ronnie kept the last one and we called it Maggie as we thought she acted like a girl bird. Maggie wouldn't let anyone take her out of the huge cage in the back yard but Ronnie. I thought it would be fun to try and teach Maggie to talk. People kept saying they had to spit the bird's tongue before they could talk. I didn't believe that. Everyday I would go out to the cage and talk to Maggie...What a smart bird she was. Before the summer was over she could say Ronnie, Water, and then Happy Birthday. Was everyone surprised when she would start calling Ronnie when he'd be out of sight. Then she would say...Ronnie eeeeeee....wat.....errrrrrrrrrr. It was so loud the entire neighborhood would hear it. She didn't stop until Ronnie brought water to her. Then I thought it would be fun to teach her Merry Christmas. It was so funny...it would be a hundred degrees outside and Maggie was screaming Merry Christmas to everything and everyone. Ronnie was just about our of high school by this time and leaving for the Marines. We had to do something about Maggie as she wouldn't let anyone else take her out of the cage. Ronnie decided to take her to the river and turn her loose with other Magpies. This he did and we all missed her. One day I was talking to someone on the phone about some PTA thing at school and this gal said...the darnedest thing is happening. There's a magpie in a tree outside my window and I swear it's hollering Merry Christmas. I must be going crazy. I told her to try and keep it there and I found Ronnie and told him maggie didn't stay by the river. He took off to get Maggie. Maggie flew right to him and back in the cage was Maggies screaming Ronnieeeeeeeeeee. It was now close to Marine time so we decided to take Maggie out to Northwest Seed and they put her in a special cage in the bird room but she wouldn't talk until one of us went out. Chuck, your great grandpa who's in Heaven , had taught her to eat hamburger so if someone gave her the meat she would talk. One week end, Ron was now in the Marines, the girls and I went out to visit Maggie...she was gone. They had promised Ron they wouldn't sell her and he would come get her when he was out of the service. They didn't keep their promise and they sold her to someone. We never got to hear Maggie call for Ronnie again.



Mac and Maggie wasn't all of our bird life. Ronnie had a parakeet named Chipper. He was an inside bird. He rode around on Ronnie's shoulder all the time when he was home. They were together a long time and Chipper did little tricks and things. One night Ronnie was

was reading in bed and Chipper was playing on the bed. Ronnie forgot Chipper was out of the cage and turned off the light and went tosleep. The next morning Ronnie was crying hard and ran upstairs and put a little warm, green dead bird in my hands. Chipper was smothered in the blankets that night. This was the last time that Ron has had birds that I know of. He now has fish and dogs.



Now the girls also had parakeets...about five of them and they also did cute things. They were let out in the family room long enough to play around with their toys and they would all climb in this big pan filled with water and takes their baths. They would really have a big splashy time. Eventually the birds were all gone.



I had many canaries come and go. Just before I moved where I am now I had three. Yogie, Gusto, Thomas. Beautiful singers. They would call whenever I would walk into the house. They would ask to be covered up when they wanted to go to bed at night...they always knew when it was bath time and they would get a big piece of Endive to eat and play with.



All of our birds were precious pets and little souls that added a lot of spirit to our lives. If any of you ever have a pet..treat it well, enjoy it, and learn from it. Your pet will teach you love in a whole new way that you'll never forget....

Poem Piece Cont.

Babes in the Woods was my first favorite poem when I was little and I guess still is. Mom's Uncle Frank, gave me this huge, beautiful book of poetry and I had to leave it behind when we moved west. We were going back to Nebraska later and I was going to pick it up. In the meantime someone took it and I never saw it again. I was very sad.

There were many poems in the book and I picked this one as my favorite. I would lay in bed and cry for the little Babes lost in the Woods. Somehow I felt like they were my friends.

Do any of you have a favorite childhood poem?
I'm sorry this didn't print out like the poem. It was my first try at putting a poem from one file into a blog. Don't know if I can figure out what I did or not....Ah Me...

Babes in the Woods

Babes in the WoodsOh, don't you remember, a long time ago,Those two little babies, their names I don't knowThey were stolen away one bright, summer's day And left in a wood, so I've heard folks say.
Pretty babes in the woodPretty babes in the woodOh, don't you rememberThose babes in the wood
Now the day being gone and the night coming onThose two little babies sat under a stoneThey sobbed and they sighed, they sat there and criedThose two little babies they laid down and died
Pretty babes in the woodPretty babes in the woodOh, don't you rememberThose babes in the wood
Now the robins so red, how swiftly they spedThey put out their wide wings and over them spreadAnd all the day long on the branches they throngThey sweetly did whistle and this was their song
Pretty babes in the woodPretty babes in the wood
Oh, don't you remember
Those babes in the wood

Pieces

Shelby, I don't need a need robe. Ha. I have one of mom's and a new one I only wore once. I just liked the purple one because if was so comfortable and the material was so different. She bought it at ColdCreek. I have never seen another anything like it. It put in lots of years so it's ready for a rest.

I wasn't as sad about the robe as I was about my mom last night. I've dreaded putting on her robe as it was the last thing she wore before she never was able to get out of bed again. Last night I wore the robe as I made myself do so. Tonight that sad feeling is over. In fact tonight the robe makes me feel closer to her so....all works out as it should. This is dumb stuff to be putting in a blog.....nite, nite, Ya'll.

bits and pieces

I attended a funeral tonight. Connie the purple robe died in the washing machine today. No longer will the neighbors catch me wearing the ragged memory of my last Christmas with Ruthie. You and Lanny gave me the robe the last time Ruthie, Arnie and I were there for Xmas Eve. The reason I REALLY remember is...I rode up with them to Sagle. Arnie forgot he wasn't on the race track and started blocking in every little car he could find...We weren't going slow either. It was a race and other drivers weren't in the mood for such. All the way to Sagle we played this game. We did let the poor guys loose long enough to stop and get ice cream cones and next pause was a yard sale along the highway...then we found a couple more little cars to play with. By the time we reached your place I just couldn't feel my legs any longer and my brain was in a cramp. Had nightmares all night about going home the next day as they stayed over also. That was my first and last trip up with Arnie. ha

The purple robe hung together many years and went to all my hospital trips and many winters keeping me company through long days and nights. It was a comfort robe. It is now buried in the Arc bag. I have a new one hanging in the closet that I've had a long time and one I bought for mom when she was at Manor Care. I pulled the purple robe from the dryer and both shoulders had fallen apart, the snaps no longer snapped, the color was fading out in spots, the sleeves and front were shredding...well it was time for it's death. But it was sad giving it up.

Now I'm wearing mom's robe and it also makes me sad. The last day she was out of bed she had the robe on and Ron was there visiting and they were having coffee when I walked in. That night she crawled into bed and never got up again.

So you see, I jumped out of bed this morning in a happy mood....and like my mom said...your happy in the morning so you'll be sad tonight.