Peanut & MeWhile I was in kindergarten, Mom & Dad pick us up from the babysitter (no, not the one from Flashback Friday #13). When we got in the car, they had a surprise for us. Wrapped up in a small blanket was a tiny puppy that Mom had gotten from one of her co-workers. "It isn't much bigger than a peanut", my brother exclaimed, so Peanut got his name then & there.
He was a Chihuahua with some Pomeranian mixed in. Small, with long tan hair and a bushy tail that reminded you of a feather duster. It is said that a dog will adopt a member of the family. This was definitely Mom's dog. He followed her everywhere.
After we got him housebroken, we could simply open the door, let him out, and when he was finished, he would bark to let us know that he wanted in again. Peanut wasn't too fond of winter. We would open the door for him, and he would look at us like he was saying "You're nuts, I'm not going out there." If you had to walk through chest high snow to go to the bathroom, would you want to go often. We would try to keep a path shoveled to the nearest tree for him. We never had a problem with him wanting to run off like the other dogs.
It's not that he didn't like his freedom. Peanut was fiercely territorial. I have seen with my own eyes the small bundle of dynamite explode and chase dogs many times his size out of our yard. The guy up the road owned a Great Dane that felt Peanut's wrath, as did the German Shepard across the street. That little dynamo kept all intruders at bay.
Not only did he keep intruders at bay outdoors, he was quite the protector inside too. He really hated Aunt Shelly's 4 oldest boys. Any time they would come over, Peanut was waiting for them behind the easy chair next to the door. The door would open, they would step into the living room, and WHAM. Peanut put on an ankle biting display that would make any dog proud. It was hilarious to see these tall, skinny teenagers dance at the melody Peanut was playing on their anklebones.
One time he followed me to the mailbox when I went to check the mail. As he was standing in the driveway, a car swerved into the driveway and tried to run him over. I threw the mail down and grabbed a handful of gravel and threw it at the back of that car as hard as I could. I also yelled a few thing that I won't type. I don't know who it was, but I hope I scratched the paint with the gravel. Losers!
Peanut loved to be around us when we were downstairs, but he wouldn't venture upstairs. Then again, would you try to climb a step that was nearly as tall as you were? I don't blame him for staying downstairs
I have seen a lot of dogs that ate table scraps, and they look like watermelons with legs. Peanut ate table scraps all the time, but he must have been active enough to keep from getting fat. One of his favorite things was to ask Mom for some of the corn flakes that she was eating for breakfast. He loved them. He would stand "upon his hind legs" and dance for us when he wanted something we had. He always got it.
When we moved from the house into the trailer (on the same plot of land), it took Peanut a bit to adjust. Several times he would bark at the door of the house to be let in. We would call his name, and the light bulb would click, and he would come to the trailer door. He also didn't care for the carpeting in the trailer. The house had a very tight gray Berber while the trailer had orange shag carpeting (it was made in the 70's, what else can I say). Many times the shag carpet would snag on his nails and he would be stuck. We had to keep a close vigil on keeping his nails trimmed.
When I was a freshman in high school, my girlfriend turned me on to baseball card collecting. I had a few from years back, and bought them by the pack in hopes to complete the set. I would use the living room floor to sort them out. One day when I had five or six hundred cards in many neat piles, the phone rang. This wasn't a phone you could carry around, for it was attached to the wall (gasp). As I was talking on the phone, Peanut looked around the corner, and I swear he smiled. I perceived his intentions, and hollered, "Peanut, Don't you dare!" With that he sprinted full speed and came to a sliding stop in the middle of the cards I was sorting. "Peanut, Get out of there!" I yelled. He again smiled at me and wagged his feather duster tail, sending cards everywhere. He then tried to run, but could get no traction on all the cards sliding beneath him. It looked like something out of a cartoon.
We moved into the trailer when Peanut was about 10 years old. Unlike our house that had no steps, the trailer had three. As the years progressed, it became harder and harder for Peanut to make it up the steps. He would go to the door, bark, and one of us would pick him up and set him outside. We would pick him up and bring him in when he was finished.
As the years progress, and Peanut grew more feeble, the phrase I didn't want to hear became reality. During my senior year, Dad told me that he had discussed with Mom, and they would be taking Peanut to the vet the next day to have him put down. I stayed up with him until about 11pm and then went to bed. When I woke up in the morning, Peanut lay cold in front of the TV. I like to think that he dided laughing at Johnny Carson's late night monologue.
We buried him in the backyard. I planted a tree next to where we laid him to rest. If anyone ever tells you that there is no such thing as a Peanut tree, I can show them one growing in central Ohio.
It's been over 25 years since Peanut died. Part of my childhood died with him. Saying goodbye is the hardest part of being a pet owner.
