happy birthday,smokey...

Our dog.

Happy Birthday Smokey, you would have been 39 in human years this year. Born today April 3rd, 1970. We got him in Aug. 1970. Smokey died in late May of 1984.

dan...
You sure have a good memory. I still miss Smokey, as he was the only dog we ever had. I have alot of memories of him, as does Tammy. Remember how he used to hide under one of our beds if he heard us filling up the his tub to give him a bath? I found a photo (presumebly taken by you) of me in his little blue tub, out on the lawn with a scrub brush washing my back, whilst Smokey looking on standing outside the tub, in bewilderment. Hahaha! He used to love walks and once we rounded any corner taking us back in the direction of the house he's start screwing around too long etc... not wanting to go back. ARemember that pink bone? Not his red thing he used to lick, but the pink one, hahaha. I'd always wanted to buy another dog, but never have. When Smokey passed away, i took it harder than I thought I would. I was the one who took him to the vet, (Tammy and I) when he was passing away, not knowing what was wrong or if we could do anything. But anyway, thanks for the reminder. I think it was mom who thought of his name, wasn't it?

tom...
Probably mom thought up the name. Maybe because he loooked like Smokey the Bear. I remember all that stuff about that dog. Losing a pet is the same as losing a member of the family, especially a dog. I bet you don't miss your Gerbals much do you? He used to sniff out those things if they got loose from the cage, would find em in two minutes, hahaha. usually hiding under Dad's dresser.
Nobody says, "Gee. I'm so sad, I miss Fido, my pet iguauna...especially the times we used to play fetch and he'd bring me the paper."
Here's the Phyllis Diller routine about Smokey: "My dog was so dumb (nearsighted?) he used bark and growl at me from across the street as if I were the enemy while I was delivering the papers." He also used to hate Delmar Allen too. We'd lock him in Grandma's basement whenever Delmar visited and we were there. He could smell the gas on him from his job and thought he was the evil meter reader or "gas man." Everyone else thought it was because Delmar had a boisterous voice and personality. But I figured out it was the smell-dogs remember smells better than anything else. Guilt by association.
I also remember in the early days (until about 1974-75) we used to play hide and seek with him. We would make him wait at the top of the stairs and go hide in a cabinet or behind the furnace, and then yell "Smmmoookkkeeey!" And he come running down the stairs looking for us while we tried to keep from laughing. What a sport and what a pal he was. And I am sure he enjoyed the attention.
Probably never told you this but long before he died when I was still in college living away from home, one day I remember breaking down because of separation anxiety-a girlfrend asked what was wrong. I missed my dog, for heaven's sake! She went "Oh my God! Go see your dog!"
In the end he became Mom's dog really. She wound up having to walk him half the time when we weren't there and even when we were. The poor guy couldn't keep up with anyone anymore. We had to pull him along, not knowing he was sick. The day I came home from up north and he wasn't there when I called I thought maybe the folks had taken him with them somewhere or you two did. Then I got your call.
You said:"Smokey's gone."
I said: "Well where is he?"
You said: "He's gone."
I said: "Well are you out looking for him did he get loose and run away again?"
Then you explained. But it didn't hit me until an hour later and I balled my head off. Another childhood icon gone, and unintentionally a training session and precurser to what was to come a year and a half later: the loss of Grandma Allen and Vane Mickle. Retrospect can often clear up the meaning of these life changes. But when you are in the process of going through it, it hurts and makes no sense to you at all.
Here's to Smokey, a real pal in every sense of the word, in a different time and era we often reflect on and wish we were back in to escape the daily B.S. of adulthood. I hear a song in my head now: "I'm Gonna Buy Me a Dog" by the Monkees.

by mr.t...and big D