Spot

 

The dog of Grandmother's that I remember was Spot. Spot was an English Bull Terrier, a big white dog with a black spot over one eye. Bob sent him to her from Mexico while he was working on his father in law’s ranch. WWII was grinding on, about to enter its fifth year, none of Grandmother’s children or grandchildren were left at home, and she was lonesome.

            She confided in Bob in a letter so he sent Spot, a lion dog. English Bull Terriers are big and strong and were used by the ranchers down in Mexico to hunt cougars, which sometimes attack their herds. Maybe not the ideal pet for an elderly lady, but Grandmother wasn’t your average spinster. She gave Spot all the love he needed to make him a loyal, devoted companion.

            Tom, my mother’s youngest brother, came home every once in a while. He was living in Oklahoma City at the time where he owned a bar. Uncle Tom was like a big kid, and he loved animals. He had an Arabian Horse. It was small but beautiful, blonde with a long flowing mane and tail. He called her “Lady” and taught her to kneel, to prance and to follow commands he gave by pressing her sides with his feet and knees. At home he made Spot feel like a puppy again, running with him through the house. I remember one time Tom ran into the dining room with Spot on his heels. Tom ran across the room and Spot jumped on the dining room table, sliding across with tablecloth, salt and pepper shaker, and flower vase all landing on the floor on the other side. At this point Grandmother sprang into action, grabbing her broom and swinging it at Tom as she chased him through the house.

            Spot had one ability which made him quite famous in the neighborhood. He could climb trees. Grandmother’s yard wasn’t completely enclosed, but there was a fence bordering the street and sidewalk on one side. In order to give Spot a little fresh air, Grandmother would tie him to a Chinaberry tree next to the fence. It wasn’t long before he learned to climb up on a tree branch to watch the cars and people go by. He made a lot of friends that way, and caused a lot of double takes by people driving by. It wasn’t unusual for drivers to circle the block just to make sure that really was a dog sitting in the tree.

            The following is from a letter Grandmother wrote in 1946. She describes getting in late one night:              

I went out to see Spot. he came to the fence to look at me. neither one of us spoke. then I came in to see if I could find anything for him to eat. & there wasn’t one scrap of anything so I cooked him some oat meal & took that to him & then when I came in he cride, so now I bring him in & let him sleep in the rocking chair.      

      

                                    Grandmother and Spot
   

 

Grandmother Paul

                                                                Great Dane

My grandmothers were both pretty amazing: raised on the frontier, strong, tough, able to ride a horse or work a mule. Both cooked on a wood burning stove, raising their own fruit and vegetables, butchering and curing meat, making their own butter and soap. They were their family’s seamstress, teacher, and sometimes even entertainment. My mother Wenonah said that Mamma was always telling them stories, and quoting maxims, and they followed her from room to room as she worked.   

I spent a lot of time with each of my grandmothers, but I know more about my grandmother Paul, because of the stories my mother Wenonah told me, and from the stories she told and wrote herself. 

Grandmother Paul loved dogs, and as I told in “Wenonah’s Story” her first dog was a Great Dane named “Watch.” She and her sisters played with him, and he was also their protector. In “Wenonah’s Story” I told of how he once saved them from being attacked by wolves. In a letter to Wenonah in 1948 she told the story of Watch’s death. Grandmother was probably 7 or 8 years old at the time and the family was living in Arkansas, the last place they lived on their journey across the country from Georgia after the Civil War, before finally settling in Indian Territory in 1888. 

I told Kaliteyo (Wenonah’s older sister) about seeing Brother Tom come in at the door. it was snowing & he & Wach had been hunting & Tom had great big wolly gloves on & had his gun hugged up in his arms & cap on with ear flaps. When he opened the door he said “Mother I killed wach.” He was crying. & Mother was sewing. She just got up & spilled her sewing on the floor & screamed & we all did. Papa got up and said, “quiette down. It was just a dog,” but what a Dog. He was our Life guard. Tom never claimed another dog as long as he lived. Watch was his. Don’t think that I am morbid, because things have come to me before when I wasen’t leaste expecting anything.

(Scrapb 2 P 74)

 No dog could take Watch’s place, but Grandmother told of other dogs from her childhood. There was the dog that got lost. I never knew his name. Every few years Pappa would move the family further west. He would load up the wagon, hitch up Old Bet the ox, and off they would go, but this time, when they called for the dog, he was nowhere to be found. They called to him and searched the area around their cabin, to no avail. Finally they started off anyway thinking he would catch up, but a day passed, and then another, but no dog. After about a week they decided that he had been killed or had taken up with another family. It was about a month later he showed up. He couldn’t tell them where he had been or how he was able to follow them after so long a time, but it was a happy reunion. 

Grandmother wrote about another dog in a letter to Aunt Oteka. She had just returned from a trip to Arkansas. 

Dear Oteka,

It is going to rain. but the Birds are singing. & I have put feed out for them & fed my pets in the House. My Pidgeons on my Porch are a pare, because one crokes & the other does not. it is so cloudy and damp. I hope it will save my Arkansas Rose bushes. I am glad I got to go back to Palmer Station. I must have been tirable happy there. I don’t believe that we were on the rite place where Eula was Buried. They have changed those Roads & I don’t believe that we were far enough out. They had Country Roads & not verry good ones at that. We went to Mr Scruses grave all rite the House that Sister Cora lived in, also. but I think Papa’s place was on the opside (opposite?) Side of the road. That is still a cotton country. Some day if I live I am going back. This was a flying visit. It sure made old memories come alive. In early spring will be a good time to go. Haskell is just as anxious as I am. I would have to be there several days because things have changed and people have passed away, but that old cypress will remain the same. Henry Morris who married Sister Cora was born & raised in Marvil & his people are burried there. I love those first memories. Sister Cora lived in Hide Park & Kittie Staid with her & went to School at Hide Park. & I was alway jellous because I did (not?) Get to go there too. Papa had a Friend by name of Fitzpatric who lived in Helena. He is the (one?) Who sent me the little Bantam Chickens. We also had a little dog. I think that he was lost & came to our House. His master had died & Papa sent little Forkerberry to the man’s wife & we cride kissed little Forkerberry goodbye.

(Box 1, File folder: News clippings, misc.)