Dogs and Trash

Today I'm going to tell you about a little dog named Nicky...

When your Uncle Byron and I first came to Brazil to start working as missionaries, we came with 6 action packer trunks and two carry-on suitcases.  We shipped some of Uncle Byron's tools and a microwave with friends who sent things in a shipping container.  We were allowed to come down with about "70%" of what was expected financially under three conditions:  we would be considered "short-term," we would have to leave the field if our support didn't hold out, we would help at the MK school which was in big need of workers.

Our first apartment was totally furnished with things that we borrowed from the belongings of a furloughing missionary and it was very close to the MK school.  We lived simply and walked or took the bus to all the places we needed to go.  At the end of that first year, a family that was going on furlough offered to let us stay in their apartment which was also close to the school.  They said we could use all their stuff - dishes, towels, even their car - but we would have to care for their aging dog - Nicky!

Another missionary advised us to accept the deal but not with the dog included.  She told me that the dog was known for being disobedient and a little mean.  Against her better judgement, we said yes and moved into a high story apartment on the eighth floor with one old dog.

Nicky was a little stubborn and a little mean, but we put up with the old thing and did our best to do a good job of it.  He had to be walked about three times a day.  If we missed a walk, he would let us know of his disappointment by tinkling on the wood floor!  We worked hard to remember.

Sometimes when the electricity was off I would have to take that crazy dog up and down all eight flights of stairs to go down and take his "walk."  William was in my "tummy" at the time.   I was probably in better shape during that pregnancy than with any of the other boys.

If you left anything good smelling on the kitchen counter within reach, Nicky would help himself.  One day he grabbed a whole roasted chicken!  Byron wrestled him down to get it back and told me to wash it off and cut out the part with the bite marks!

All in all, we did our best to keep Nicky happy and well fed.  We would take him down to the MK school a few times a week and let him run all around within the confines of the big campus walls.  I was grateful to not have to walk around and around the block the silly dog on those trips to the old Fortaleza Academy and to be able to just let him go free for a bit.

https://c1.staticflickr.com/1/10/14493623_818289ae43_n.jpg

 The Big House dorm at the old Fortaleza Academy

That summer a lot missionaries who worked at the school were gone.  The family that lived in the school dorm as house parents knew we came a lot of Nicky to run around and asked if we would turn on some lights sometimes at night and even stay to watch TV some so their house would not look empty.  One night while watching TV in the big house with Nicky running around the yard of the house, we heard a big splash. Nicky had fallen in the swimming pool and couldn't get out.

We called and called to get him to come closer to the side so we could just grab the dumb dog out.  He was doggie- paddling wildly and starting to look like he might come close to drowning.  He was a little blind, and we thought maybe that was messing up his finding the side of the pool.  Uncle Byron had his suit pants on and didn't want to jump in the pool to rescue the creature.  Ah, so I did - big belly and all.  Nicky seemed to like me more after that!

The missionary owners of Nicky left us the name and address of the place where they took Nicky to the vet and for grooming.  I took him once and it cost an arm and a leg, so to speak.  Mrs. Miller, the missionary lady, had also showed me where she kept clippers for little grooming jobs at home.  I knew how to use clippers and often cut Byron's hair.  So one day, Byron helped me hold the dog and we decided to trim his hair ourselves.  It was a mess, not very even.  I almost cut the poor thing in various places.  He didn't look so great.  But hey, hair grows back, right!  We figured before the Millers came back we would just have to take him to the vet one other time.

But alas one evening Nicky met a cruel end.  Even though he couldn't see well, he had a good sniffer.  Whenever we took him for walks, he had a bad habit of picking up any bit of good smelling (good smelling for a dog that is) trash.  I would scold him, smack his little head to make him let go of whatever, and then we would move along.  One night while walking he picked something up and got very mad when I smacked his little head and growled at me.  I remember saying to him that he was mean and bad and to just eat whatever it was and he did.

Sometime around midnight of that evening, Nicky started running all over the apartment in some sort of fit with foam and drool coming out of his mouth.  I called the number of the vet and asked for advice.  They said it sounded like he had been poisoned but if we hurried to the office he might be OK.  We got ready to go, but he fell over sideways, stiffened up and fell over slap dead.

This little story has a moral - Don't Eat Trash, or you might end up dead and stiff!

Even though it's sort of a sad story, we remember Nicky fondly and the lesson is indeed good.  What is the trash in your life that you'd be better off leaving alone!  Are you so mean and snappy that most people wouldn't care if you were gone or not? Remember that missionary lady that said not to accept the dog.  Well, she basically said we were better off without the critter after he was gone.  But you know what, we missed that dog. 

Uncle Byron tells another part of the story much better than I about what all he had to do to bury the silly dog.  But you will have to ask him to tell you that part the next time you see him in person!

And remember, don't be a mean old snappy dog.