Little Dogs and Big Regrets

For most of my childhood, I had a paper route. If there was a contest for best paperboy in Philo, I probably would have won because I could stuff, fold and rubberband papers really fast. Then, I’d cram them into my bike with the dual baskets on the back and take off. I was pretty quick. The only thing that could slow me down was dogs. I was afraid of dogs as a kid, and it seemed like Philo had a lot of dogs running loose back in the 70s.  I would ride blocks out of my way to avoid a house that had a dog running loose.

To help with this fear, my mom bought me some stuff called “Mailman’s Best Friend."  If a dog ever got too close, I could just spray a little of this stuff in his general direction and he’d leave me alone. Everything would be fine; at least that’s what mom told me. The thing is, after she bought it for me, I never had to use it. Maybe just the sight of that red can bouncing around in my front bike basket kept the dogs away. Or maybe I was just really good at avoiding dogs.

I couldn’t leave well enough alone though. One early Saturday morning, I was delivering a paper to Old Mrs. Brazelton’s house when her dog decided to go nuts. The good news was that the dog was inside a fence that I didn’t even have to go inside of.  I just had to put the paper in a box along the top of the fence and move on. But the dog was barking like crazy and probably waking everybody up, so I gave him a quick squirt right in the face with “Mailman’s Best Friend”. The dog started crying and rolling around in the grass.  I went on my way, finished my route and went home. 

This is the actual mailbox that I was supposed to put the paper into.  It still stands today.

A couple hours later, mom got a phone call from Mrs. Brazelton. Apparently, she had seen the whole thing through her window and was none too happy about it. She was back from the vet, where she’d had to have the dog’s eyes washed out. She informed mom that she would be expecting me to reimburse her for the vet bill, which was just short of $100. That’s where my memory ends. I don’t remember having to go down and apologize for being so stupid, and I don’t remember ever having to pay the bill.  To this day, I think about how stupid I was everytime I walk down the street Mrs. Brazelton lived on.  By the way, I'm still scared of dogs.

Update [December 16, 2020]:

Mrs. Brazelton's 97 year old daughter still lives next door to where Mrs. Brazelton's house once stood.  97 years old, and sharp as a tack.  I happened to see her a couple of times this fall.  She knew who I was from when I was a kid and mentioned both times that I used to be her paperboy.  Uh-oh.......

A couple of days ago, I stopped by her house to ask her to sign a petition for me.  As always, she was super nice and was very encouraging when I told her that I was hoping to join the Philo Village Board.  We talked about Philo's 150th birthday (in 5 years) and how she hoped to be around for it.  We talked about Philo's 100th birthday back when I was 9 years old.  We had a great conversation going, and then she had to ruin it by saying "I remember when you were my paperboy."  

I couldn't stand it any longer.  I had to know if she remembered.  I said "You mentioning that I was your paperboy reminds me of a story."  She gave me a knowing nod and smile, and I asked "Do you know what I'm going to say?"  She said "I know what you are going to say, but I would have never brought it up unless you did. I wasn't even sure if you remembered."

Oh, I remember the story alright.  Apparently a little better than her because her recollection was that I shot her mom's dog.  While still bad, I don't think a little spray of ammonia to the face is quite as bad as a gunshot.  I'm glad I was able to clear my name of that charge.  I'm also glad that, 43 years later, I finally found a way to apologize for my dumb adolescent actions.  In fact, I probably apologized 2 or 3 times.  I'm not quite sure if she ever really accepted my apology.  She did, though, say that she would vote for me when the election rolls around.

Hmmmm.....now I'm trying to come up with other dumb stuff that I did as a kid that I can apologize for. 

When I was a kid, we raised rabbits.

You know, the cute fluffy white ones. Dad used to butcher them and sell the meat. We all helped take care of them, but only my 2 oldest brothers took part in the butchering. I steered clear on those days because I was usually too attached to the little things to think about what happened to them, although it never stopped me from eating the rabbit meat.

Every once in a while, a neighborhood dog would visit and think about getting him some rabbit. Mom kept a gun (it only shot blanks, I think) in the kitchen and would shoot toward any dogs that got too close. One time though, a dog got to the rabbits and ended up killing something like 10 or 15 of them. Mom must have somehow caught the dog, and called the owners. I have a vague memory of some 10-12 year old boy coming over to our house to get his dog. He was crying a bunch, but I’m not sure why. I don’t know if it was because mom was calling the dogcatcher or what. But he was crying as if he was never gonna see the dog again, so I don’t know if they took it away for good or what. When that kid grew up, he turned out to be pretty mean and picked on me a bunch. Thanks mom.

I think I’m gonna call mom right now and ask her if she remembers that happening. Then I’m gonna ask her what they did to the dog. Ugh, what if she tells me they shot it?