Memories of Pepper

         "Hey, come see our new dog." Roger Smith waved from his front yard. "We just brought him home."

         I walked across the dry, dead grass from my drive to his. "What did you get?" I knew he had gone to the animal shelter, hoping to find a pet for his children.

         He opened the back hatch of his SUV. "A German shepherd. Looks full blooded." By the time he had unlatched the huge dog carrier, I stood by his shoulder. Inside stood a large dog, black trimmed in silver.

         "He's beautiful." I reached a hand, palm down, toward the dog. He sniffed and then licked it. "Oh, he's friendly." I moved my hand to the spot behind his ear that most dogs loved to be scratched. As I petted him, I went back in time, way back in time.

         Many of my memories may not actually be mine, but the retelling of stories from my parents. I'm sure I don't actually remember my mother laying me on a blanket on the the floor and five-weeks-old Pepper licking my face. After all, I was only a week older than the puppy. I also can't remember myself her entertaining me while my mother hung clothes on the line to dry, back before many dryers were found in homes. However, I remembered the story, at least, as I rubbed my hand over the neighbor's dog that resembled that long ago dog.

***
         My mother sat me in an infant chair on the floor inside the screen door from the laundry room to the back porch. She said I was normally a happy baby, and she could see me and hear me from the clothesline. Four-month-old Pepper ran around the yard, enjoying the warm day.

         I became bored or unhappy for some reason and began to cry. Mom laid the diaper in her hand back in the basket to come to me when Pepper ran past her, up the steps to the screen. She gave a "woof." I laughed. She tilted her head. Her tongue lolled from the side of her mouth. After a few seconds, she lopped down the steps to lie on the ground about half way between the house and my mother.

         I was happy again, for a while, but I cried again. Pepper rushed to the door and woofed at me again. Apparently I was delighted because I laughed again. Pepper stayed a bit longer that time and woofed for me a couple more times before she returned to her spot.

         Apparently Pepper continued to entertain me every time I cried until Mom finished hanging up the clothes to dry.

         The "memories" of that event may not have been all mine, but I had many of Pepper. She was my dog. I looked into the deep brown eyes of Roger's dog and remembered the time Pepper and I took a nap together in the shade of the house. We were both about three or four. I had been running around outside and sat down in the grass. Pepper, always my companion, flopped down beside me. I lay in the grass, using her as a pillow. The next thing I remember is my dad shouting to someone, "I found her."

****

         "Let me get him out of that crate." Roger's voice brought me back to the present. I stepped back so he could snap a leash on the collar that circled the dog's neck.

         "He's beautiful, Roger. Your kids will love him, but if they don't .." I paused. "Well, if they don't, I'd be glad to give him a home."

         Roger laughed. "Tell you what, if he finds a home here, I'll give you visitation rights."