The Ggma Chronicles, Part 10: “Pets & Other Animals” and “Goodbye, Sport”
The Water Moccasin-Clearing Terrier
The following was written by my maternal grandmother, Alice Green Kollenborn (1911-2005). There is some redundancy, as she wrote the same account several times, and I don’t know which one was the “official” version. Each version does add something missing from the others. However, in one account, she says she got her dog Sport when she (herself) was 8 years old, but in another account she says she was 11. Of course, she wrote this many decades after the events, so there’s no way to know which recollection of hers is correct, or whether her age was somewhere between those two ages. She also claims in “Pets and Other Animals” that Sport died after she left home, but that apparently wasn’t the case; perhaps she meant to write that one of the other dogs (maybe Old Shep?) died after she left home.
PETS AND OTHER ANIMALS
DOGS
Old Shep — Papa’s big black shepherd dog
Fanny — reddish yellow slick [?] dog — medium-size and very smart
Penny — small white terrier type with black markings. Beautiful little dog. Died of distemper when still a puppy.
Sport — Very intelligent and best snake dog I ever saw. White terrier with black markings, similar to Penny. Had her for many years. She got run over after I married and left home.
Pep — named by a pen pal in California. Beautiful little black with white markings on her. Looked like a miniature shepherd. Was poisoned after I left home. My favorite dog was Sport as I had her for so long and I raised her from a tiny puppy. She was 10 or 12 years old when she was killed.
CATS
Sir Thomas — a black tom with beautiful white markings on his face and paws. I found him in a steel trap dead one cold winter day. I was heartbroken. Had a lovely grey cat my sister and brother-in-law hated for some reason. One morning early they caught him and carried him away. I was about 7 or 8 years old. I cried my eyes out, but never found him.
GOODBYE, SPORT
The Ozark hills were aflame with red and gold and the big harvest moon hung low over the old grey farmhouse. Nothing seemed changed as I sat by the window listening to the mournful chanting of the whippoorwill’s twilight song, but my heart was heavy. My world had fallen apart and I felt it would never be the same again.
As I listened to the wail of the night birds, my thoughts raced back to that happy day when my dream of owning a puppy had been fulfilled. My heart went out to her at first sight as she looked at me with soft sad eyes. Her long silky ears felt satin-soft like the velvet nose of a horse. She cuddled closely to her mother’s side, like a warm baby rabbit in his down-filled nest.
My heart seemed to skip a beat as I held her close to me and she licked my face with her warm moist tongue. Her breath was baby sweet. From that time on we were inseparable. I named her Sport. We roamed the nearby woods together, Sport chasing the barking and chattering squirrels up the trees where they jeered at us from behind a twisted limb or squinted through a knothole. Nearby the woods opened up into a wide meadow, green in summer and yellow with dry grass during the winter. Cottontail rabbits romped to and fro here with Sport in hot pursuit as they wove impossible trails to an easy escape under a nearby brush pile.
There was a wooded trail along the creek bank worn smooth by the feet of many small animals. This was also a favorite sunning spot for the cottonmouth moccasins that inhabited the creek below. As Sport and I took our daily walk along this trail, the sound of water moccasins splash, splashing off into the water let me know I had nothing to fear as the path was cleared.
On long winter days, we strolled along the leaf-carpeted creek bank where the cardinals sang and flitted in the bare willow thicket. Those were carefree days with acres of fresh air and sunshine and 24 hours a day to spend.
Until one bright spring morning; Sport was howling [?] and playing and suddenly a crimson spray from her front dampened the earth around her. Her body shook with fear as I held her close. Mama brought me a cold wet cloth to cover her bleeding nose, and I said, “Sport, Baby, you will be OK; don’t be afraid.” But when the vet examined her he said, “I don’t think Sport is long for this world. She will get better and have some good days, but she can’t last very long, possibly six months or a year.” I was too stunned to believe these cruel words. You see she has [?]
She looked at me with warm, trusting eyes, asking me to help her. Maybe I had loved her too much like I had my father when he went away. I was afraid to go to school, fearing she might go away, too.
Sport was no ordinary dog. She could climb a ladder and perform tricks like a professional circus animal, which she wasn’t. Everything seemed to come naturally to her; everything, that is, but a long, healthy life.
As the robins sang their contented “chee-dee, chee-dee” in the weeping willow tree, time melted away, and once again I was racing down the hill with Sport toward the old grey farmhouse It was here I lived with Mama, four sisters and two brothers. Papa had gone to his reward when I was four years old.
When I was about 8 years old, Mama let me have a puppy of my own. I even had the privilege of choosing her from the litter. I chose the runt. She was beautiful, snow white with silky brown ears that almost touched the ground as she wobbled on bow legs under her plump little body. Her huge round eyes resembled those of a timid young fawn. Sport and I became inseparable companions after my sisters went away to school. We roamed the wide green meadows and strolled through the moss-carpeted woods together.
When I grew lonely or had a problem too big to solve alone, Sport and I took long walks along the creek bank trail worn smooth by the feet of many small animals. Here the willow leaves lay curled, yellow and brown as they crackled beneath our feet. The gay cardinals whistled cheerily and flit to and fro in the willow thicket as Sport chased the sunning grey water moccasins into the quiet water.
As the robins sang their contented “chee-dee, chee-dee” in the weeping willow tree, time melted away and I stood once again on the high hill above our old grey farm and heard once more the familiar sounds of years gone by.
Sport and I were racing down the hill together, into the house where mama was sure to be in the kitchen preparing a meal for seven hungry mouths. I used to wonder why she was always cooking. Mama was always baking, it seemed, more from necessity than from the love of baking. There were seven healthy appetites to satisfy. Papa had gone to his reward at an early age, and mama worked hard to keep our family well-fed and happy.
When I was about 11 years old, mama let me have a puppy of my very own, the most beautiful creature in the whole world. She was snow-white with silky brown ears that almost touched the ground as her stubby bow legs wobbled under her plump little body. She had huge round eyes like a young timid fawn. Since my sisters had gone away to school, Sport and I became inseparable companions and roamed the wide green meadows and walked through the moss-carpeted woods together.
Sport had come to live with us when she was old enough to be separated from her mother. She was the runt of the lot, a tiny white fluff-ball. Soon she was one of the family.
We roamed the wide green meadows and strolled through the moss-carpeted woods together. Life lay before us, bright and wonderful. It is good that we cannot see into the future.
When I grew lonely or had a problem to solve, Sport and I took long walks along the creek bank where the willow leaves lay curled, yellow and brown, and crackled beneath our feet and the cheery red cardinals whistled out their gay songs while Sport chased the sunning water moccasins into the quiet water. I sat and meditated, and soon my problems seemed to dissolve into the sound of nature.
The Ozark hills were aflame with red and gold and the big harvest moon hung low over the old grey farmhouse. The lonely whippoorwills were chanting their lonely twilight song which sent my thoughts racing back to the first time I saw my little Sport and we became inseparable companions. She was so tiny and snow white. Her long silky brown ears almost dragged the ground as her stubby bow legs wobbled under her plump little body. Her soulful round eyes resembled those of a timid fawn. As she locked my face with her smooth velvet tongue, I felt her warm moist breath on my cheek.
As the seasons came and went, Sport grew from an awkward stumbling puppy to a proud dynamic pointer.
Birds were her specialty, but she had a passion for spotting and destroying poisonous snakes, such as the cottonmouth moccasin and copperheads. Their favorite sunning place was a wooded trail along the creek bank, worn smooth by the feet of many small animals. Here the moccasins stretched out in glistening ribbons; as we walked along, you would hear the splash, splash of water as they made their fast exit.
Sport became the hub around which my whole world turned. I have always been puzzled at the short life span of a canine compared to that of man. It seems a cruel trick to play on mankind. A dog’s life at best is so very short. She lived hers to the fullest. At an early age, Sport began to grow tired and listless, and often a crimson spray from her nostril stained the green grass around. Only a miracle could save her, but that miracle never happened.
But life seems full of unsolved problems which makes every day a new challenge. Life’s challenge seemed too much for Sport, as she constantly grew weaker.
One chill October day, when the woods hung heavy with the aroma of burning leaves and the hills were autumn gold, she left as quietly as a falling leaf. Even with her great love for life, she had grown too tired to resist and left without a struggle. Even though I knew it must happen, I was too stunned to believe the truth.
After my father’s death, I searched for the truth and found a promise of life with him in the hereafter, but where do dogs go after their life? I found no answer. All I wanted was to go with Sport and I didn’t know where. Sadly I told her goodbye for the last time as we gently laid her to rest in the fresh brown earth amongst the tall white daisies.
Then I remembered Mama always saying, “Nothing is ever destroyed or lost; it only changes form.” Suddenly the riddle was solved. All I had to do was look, and Sport would be there, in every bird song, in every rippling brook, in every sunset, and every sound of nature. But in my memory, she would always be my dog.
After all these many long years, as I think back on my childhood days, I still see my Sport galloping through the wide-open meadows, her soft ears blowing in the wind.