April 2007                                                            The Megaphone                                                                 Page 3

My Dog, Pal

by Jerry McClish

When I was in the 4th grade, Dad went out side to get a 5 gallon can of kerosene for our stove. It was a cold morning and we had just had some snow fall overnight. Dad came into the house carrying a beautiful baby collie which he had found shivering in the snow under the fuel drum. He said he could not have been there very long. We later found out he was part Spitz. 

Someone had dropped this cute dog off because Dad could follow his footprints. Dad said the dog had been well taken of but he was shaking from being so cold. Mom wrapped him in a big towel and held him in her arms for a while and then fed him as he was very hungry. Dad said we could keep him but we had to take care of him. My brother, Larry, said we can call him Pal which we did.

The dog was very easy to take care of and easy to train. As he grew, he was very frisky and a lot of fun to play with. He was an indoor dog and only went out when we did. I can recall how his ears perked up when you asked him if he wanted to go out. As he grew to be about two years old, he got into this habit of chasing wheels on a car or bike and if caught, Mom or Dad would yell at him and he knew he was in trouble. 

We were still living at the end of South 21st Street and South H Street. One day mom and I were outside and he started to chase the wheel of a car. As he did, the car made a right turn onto South H Street and he went tumbling over and over and headed off limping toward the back of the Heekin Can warehouse.

After about a day or so he never came home. Our efforts to find him were futile. Probably a week went by and we saw him coming over the Pennsylvania Railroad tracks with a minor limp but looked in good condition. Mom always said he knew he was in trouble so he left to let his wounds heal, but we all were glad to see him.

Dad and I used to take him fishing sometimes with us and Pal loved it. One day dad and a friend went fishing but I do not recall where. It could have been a gravel pit towards Kokomo, but a place I never went to. They took Pal with them. When it was time to leave, they could not find him anywhere and Dad dreaded the idea of having to tell us boys. About two weeks later, he came walking down the Pennsylvania Railroad tracks with badly sore paws. He had been fed well as he was in good shape. We took him to a vet and he removed some cinders, bandaged two of her paws as I recall, and told mom how to treat him..

We moved to the 2500 block of South B Street into my grandmother's house while we lived with her as she was growing older and had health problems. Pal remained a good house dog and one you could rely on to listen for anyone outside. He would be asleep or awake and when he heard someone coming, his ears would perk up. He would quickly recognize family members. If friends like Dallas Heston, Pat Webb, or others came to the door, he would bark once and once he saw them, he would lay back down.

Dad worked until eleven o'clock at Guide Lamp and would get home at eleven-thirty and Pal seemed to sense that it was time for him to come home. At any other noise or scent, he would start barking. A couple of times we saw people running from our house or my car. One night, Everett (Pat) Webb was there and we went to the door only to see a car pull away with my new spinner hub caps for my Dodge. Another time Dallas and someone else were there and he growled so we snuck out the front door, only to find a Mexican looking into Mom's bedroom. We chased the guy to the Nickel Plate Railroad near Wright's cement factory but we lost him.

We moved to North 12th Street and Pal showed signs of slowing down. After all, he was close to 14 years old and had been a great dog. I was getting ready to leave, when Mom came in sobbing. Pal had taken a few steps onto the front porch and died right in front of Mom. We buried him in the back yard.

A First and Last Date

A change of stories. Before Judy and I started dating, I went to pick up a girl for our first date. 

It was a hot and humid evening and as I approached her house, I saw her Collie lying on her front porch. I went into the house to meet her parents. After a few minutes, we decided to leave to go play miniature golf. As we left the house, I noted her dog was not out front and never thought much about it. I helped the young lady into the car and walked around to get in on my side of the car. As I pulled away slowly, I felt this bump and I thought, "No, this can't be." But it was. 

My back wheel had ran over her dog and it was dead in a matter of minutes. All I could do was to say I was sorry. I told her we should forget about the date but she wanted to go anyway. After a quick game of golf and going to the A&W, it was time to get the poor girl home. Needless to say, it was my last date with her, even though she did call me a couple of times after that. She told me to forget about what happened. She'd gotten word I was upset about it.

Jerry McClish, '56

North Ridgeville, OH