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July24, 2006 - Hearts and Humor - The Game >> |
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Hi, Gang I'm sorry I didn't post a new story last weekend. My grandkids, the ones who have been driving me crazy living with me, left last weekend. They have gone to live with their dad for 6 weeks. Next week, their mom is moving to Idaho. The boys will move to her after their visit with their dad. I had the house to myself, while Ginny and Heather took the boys to Indiana to hand them off to their dad. I planned to write all weekend, but I did nothing. I sat and pined for Ginny to come home. Those boys - yes, the ones who have driven me crazy for a year - were gone. I missed them. This weekend's story will be about my feelings and thoughts on it. I wanted to write it last weekend, but I was too lonely and sad too. Tonight I bring you one of my favorite stories. My good friend Glenda told me this story. It is a true account of an amazing happening. If you don't have faith, then this story might give you some. Tippy When young Robby was born, his grandparents had a German Sheppard named Jack. Jack was old and did not care for too many people to be around, but when Robby was there, he would lick his face and allow him to ride his back around the yard. When Robby was three, Jack died. At every visit to his grandparents, he would mourn the loss of his friend. Tippy was a plain, brown, mix-breed mutt, who had all of young Robby's love. A friend had given Tippy to the family around the time of Jack's death. Tippy and Robby became inseparable. Tippy played ball with Robby, lay in the grass with him, chased him around the yard or on his bike, and even play tug-of-war with a rope. The loss of Jack was soon a memory. Their back yard was fenced in. If Tippy was locked in the yard and heard Robby on the other side, Tippy would literally climb the fence to be with him. Wherever Robby was, Tippy was sure to be close by. If Robby's mom wanted to know where Robby was, she'd call Tippy, who would bark, and let her know where they were. It was a typical boy/dog relationship, full of love and friendship. When Robby was four, Tippie made a mistake. He ran into the street, was struck by a car and killed. Robby was devastated. The friendship was over, but not the love. Around the time of Tippie's death, Robby's dad bought a sorrel-colored quarter horse named Luke. A new relationship began. Luke was a three year old gelding. Green broke, wild and stubborn when Robby's dad rode him. However, with Robby the horse was the opposite. He was two horses in one. On Play Day, a sort of local or state fair, Luke would be tied to the trailer, and Robby would swing from his tail or play with his toys around his hooves. Luke wouldn't move, completely content to have young Robby at his side. When Robby was big enough to ride, his parents would put him on Luke's back, and Luke would hang his head and plod along, as if he had children on his back his whole life. If Robby's dad rode him, Luke would scotch and prance around. Luke just seemed to know children were special and needed protection. For several years, Robby and his dad competed in Play Day events and won many ribbons and trophies. Luke and Robby turned five the same year. Young Robby started half days at school. One October morning, Luke got into the tack room and ate all the oats in a barrel. He became colic. The vet tried to save him, but failed. Luke was gone. Robby's mom agonized over how she was going to tell Robby the news of Luke's death. She kept telling herself she was not going to cry. She was going to sit Robby down, try to explain what happened, and why sometimes things like this happen. Robby came home from school. She took him to his bedroom, and sat beside him on the bed. "Robby, I have something I have to tell you." Young Robby looked up at his mom. "Mama, I know Luke died today." She stared down at him. "How could you know, Robby? It just happened." "Mama, we played in the playground at school today. While I was playing, Tippy stuck his head out of the clouds and told me that Luke had died and was with him and Jack. He said not to cry, because they were taking care of him." Mom's resolve not to cry was forgotten. She pulled him into her arms, as her tears dripped down on him. She stared to the ceiling in wonder and whispered, "Thank you, Tippy." Michael T. Smith I love your comments. Please keep them coming, because they keepme inspired to write more. I promise to post a few with every story. Please share my stories, but please leave the link for new members to find their way to my ezine. To read or sign up for my stories go to: http://archives.zinester.com/86758/ or I am on your zine and just read your summer story and the one about hanging on. Both touched spaces in my memory. I, too, grew up in a time without television. While we didn't live near the exciting places you describe in your story, our lives were full. Whenever it rained, we had popsicle stick races. My sister and I would float a stick in the racing water by the curb. Which would make it to the drainhole first? Other things we did to fill our summers were numerous. Each year our OLD neighbors had granddaughters who came to visit for a couple weeks. The one girl was older than I. She was our leader. Each summer we wrote a new "show" for which her grandmother made us costumes...sometimes from crepe paper. We became flowers or angels...whatever her mind could invent. On a hot summer's afternoon, after we had taken notices of our "show" to all the neighbors in the block, we set up kitchen chairs in the backyard, a blanket over the clothesline became our curtain...and at 2 pm exactly, SHOWTIME! What fun! On warm summer nights we two girls would go outside. There were very few automobiles in our neighborhood. The people living there were not very rich in money..just in life. We often would go to the end of our block, lie down in the street and look up at the streetlight and discuss what we would do "when we grow up". I tell my mom these things we did and she gasps. It is strange that in the 1950's, children had so much less in material things but so much more freedom. LONG days of roaming the neighborhood, discussions while sitting on a ratty dusty sag-springed couch in the neighbor's garage, all without adult supervision. We too dreaded the coming of August. Not only for its signalling of school's approach but for the dreaded "Dog days" when the pools would shut down in fear of the dreaded polio epidemics. Thanks for bringing back those memories. I sometimes wish our grandchildren had time for just being alone with their imaginations. Instead they are "nickolodeon-ized". Love you, Linda **************** Now for some comments on recent stories. Michael, each and every one of us who read your stories are very glad that you have kept hanging on. You have a wonderful gift and I, for one, am glad that you share it with us. Thank you, Patty |
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