"Old Buck"

     I guess most children have a favorite childhood pet, one that is so memorable that even as an old person they can still see their face and feel their silky ears or something about them that is simply unforgettable.  For me those pets were dogs. I specifically remember three dogs in my childhood.  There was Buck, the English bulldog, Tootsie, the little brown, curly mutt and Charlie, the black Cocker Spaniel.  For some reason Buck is the one I think of often and remember in detail and he was my first pet.  He was my parents dog before I was born and he was with me for the first eight or nine years of my life.  I don't know why we called him "old" Buck.  Perhaps he was middle aged when I was born.
     I was five years old when we moved from the Gulf oil camp at Kilgore, Texas to a similar oil camp in Eunice, New Mexico.  I remember snatches of my life in east Texas... the tall pines and how they smelled, the warm sandy soil beneath my feet, the smell of oil and natural gas in the air, and green things growing everywhere.  I remember Mother taking me to the barn when she milked the cow, and planting me in a barrel of grain, up to my waist so I couldn't toddle underneath the cow.  I remember the taste of the sweet, crunchy grain in my mouth, when she wasn't watching.  Before she came up with this idea I'd been pinned between the horns of that cow when I was smaller.  I don't remember that, but my mother never forgot it.  I do remember the look of horror on her face as she recounted the story over and over throughout my life.
      Another memory I have of those first five years was of our next door neighbors, Roy and Edna Ethridge.  I loved them both but Roy was my favorite.  I'm not sure why,  but he, and my love for him, is one of the memories that linger in my heart to this day.  But the most prominent of my east Texas memories is that of our dog, Buck.

"Pure White English Bulldog"

      Buck was a pure white, half English, half Pit bulldog.  I've never understood all the hoopla and hullabaloo over pit bulls in this modern day.  Buck was one of the gentlest, sweetest animals you could imagine.  He was a fierce fighter and protector of our family, no doubt about that, but to us he was a "pussy cat".  I remember my dad saying Old Buck would fight a circle saw for us!"  I guess that pretty much summed up his personality to other people too, but his big soft belly was my pillow when I took a nap in front of the fire on a winter's afternoon.  He'd lay there as still as a dead dog until I woke up.
     Another vivid memory I have of him was of the morning we heard a commotion in the pasture next to our house.  We ran to the door and saw that Buck had wrestled a young steer to the ground.  He had the critter by the neck and had twisted it sideways until the little bull was lying helpless on the ground.  Buck was hanging on for dear life and wouldn't let go even when Daddy approached, yelling and kicking him. Buck stubbornly held on until Daddy, in desperation, stomped on his neck.  When he did that, Buck turned loose and the frightened steer jumped up and ran away.  Daddy held our snarling dog by the collar until his victim was out of sight, then dragged him home.  We never did figure out why Buck attacked the steer.  Daddy thought he'd just gotten too close to our house.
     Buck was not very good on a leash.  The minute the thing was snapped onto his collar, he would drag Mother and Daddy around until they got him home and released him.  But when I grabbed his collar, he'd walk meekly beside me and follow wherever I led him.  Somehow he knew I was a child and he must behave himself.  My parents soon figured out that he behaved better to their voice commands than when he was leashed, but after the calf incident and others like it, they didn't trust him.
     The day we moved from Texas to New Mexico, my parents arose at five a.m. to begin packing the car.  We owned a little Studebaker coup that didn't have a back seat.  Instead of a seat there was a small space behind the fronts seats, that we called the "cubby hole".  In that space my mother would stack quilts and pillows where I could stand between them and see the road ahead, or stretch out and have a very comfortable bed to nap on.(That was long before seat belts or infant seats.)
     Unbeknown to me, Daddy had made arrangements to leave Buck in Texas because he couldn't see how we'd have room for him in that little car.  New Mexico was hundreds of miles away and we were in east Texas, all the way across the state from there.  Daddy used to say, "I drove all the way across the state of Texas and just wore out one set of tires!"  (That's one of those "Texan" jokes they love to tell when they're bragging about the size of the state.)  But in this case it was close to true and he couldn't imagine hauling that big, smelly, slobbering animal in that little car all the way across Texas.  So he had made arrangements with the Ethridges to give Buck to the first person who would take him in after we left.
    The morning of the trip, the first thing they did was take all the bedding from the house to the cubby hole and make my bed.  I was still sound asleep at that early hour so Daddy picked me up in my pajamas and carried me to the car and tucked me into my little bed, so they could continue their packing. (They were also pulling a little two wheel trailer.)  I  continued sleeping comfortably tucked under the covers.
     Daddy had been calling Buck since he got up so he could tie him to a tree until his new owner came to fetch him.  Buck however had different plans.  He laid low somewhere until my parents put me into the car and went back to the house.  Then he climbed in with me.
     "Where could that dog be?" Daddy asked Mother when they were ready to leave.  "I'm not waiting any longer for him.  The Ethridges can find him and tie him up.  We have to get on the road!"
     So they proceeded to get into the car.  Mother saw him first and said, "Pete, I found the dog."
      "Where is he?" asked Daddy.
      She pointed behind the front seat.  Daddy stuck his head in the opposite window.  "Buck, you old rascal! Get on out of there!"
     I was awake by then and staring, uncomprehending at my daddy.  I didn't understand why he wanted Buck to get out.
     "Come on out of there, damn it!" said my frustrated father after a few attempts to extract the dog.
     "Daddy, this is a good place for Buck to sleep.  He's my pillow!" I protested.
     "Buck's staying here!  We're not taking him all the way to New Mexico!" he declared suddenly.
     Well, I got it then and immediately began to wail.  When I did it upset Buck and he started whining and licking my face.
     Daddy reached for his collar and Buck growled at him.  He was on his feet now, hair standing on end, teeth bared.  Either he felt threatened or he thought I was threatened.
     Daddy jerked his hand back and looked at Mother, dumbfounded.
     She shrugged and said, "Well I guess Buck's going to New Mexico!"
     They got into the car and I heard Daddy muttering angry threats for the next few minutes before Buck and I settled back down to finish our naps.
     Old Buck lived a good, happy life in New Mexico remaining my protector and unforgettable friend for several more years.