Doggone It

    Just beyond Sibley's business district lay a city block square

grassy area called The Dog Park. I don't know why; dogs in those

days were not taken somewhere to romp with other canines and

fetch sticks or balls. Dogs had the run of the town-much to

my dismay.

    While I'm in awe of the varied animal kingdom throughout

the planet, I prefer all creatures great and small in their natural

habitat, which is to say not up close and personal with me. I'm

going out on a limb here to state that I'm not fond of dogs. I

don't fully trust them. I dislike being sniffed, slobbered on,

and clawed from feet to waist as the animal climbs my jeans

to say hello. I make no apology for these admissions. I have a

right to my wariness, as canine lovers do to their admiration

and fascination.

    Maybe it's because the dogs I encountered as a child did

not endear themselves to me. My earliest memory of being

frightened by a dog was in Ashton, so I would have been about

six. The dog belonged to two bachelors whose last name was

Gaster.

    Once when the family was coming to visit, the oldest child

said she couldn't wait to see my pets. What to do? I purchased

two fish, which Grace and her younger sister, Sarah, named

and fed while they were here. Goldie and Sunny had the usual

life expectancy of fish and were not replaced. By the next time

the kids visited, they'd forgotten about Granny's pets. Except

for thinking the gators in the pond out back were pets. One, we

named Snappy.

   Living here on Worlud Pond, with a woodland preserve

behind it, is like having the Discovery channel on a panoramic

screen. There are birds of prey: owls, hawks, eagles, vultures, and

osprey, and water birds of all kinds, including a lunatic limpkin

that screeches day and night. Sandhill cranes strut their stuff

in pairs or quartets, often with fuzzy chicks toddling behind. In

and around the pond are gators, turtles, otters, toads, snakes,

swamp bunnies, squirrels, raccoons, opossums, the ubiquitous

lizards, and a host of frogs that set up a mighty chorus than runs

from dusk to beyond midnight and from spring to fall. We've

seen a mother bobcat and two kittens, and coyotes have been

spotted. We've witnessed a gator take down a large bird or two.

A gator has, on occasion, wandered up to someone's front door

and we once saw one sitting by our mailbox by the road. Yes; we

waited before picking up the mail.

    Our first year here, Grace discovered a baby gator in the

water. She named it Flower Linnet. As babies are wont to do,

Flower had a growth spurt and, at about twelve feet in length,

became a nuisance. The gator wranglers arrived to cart her

away. Grace still believes that one of the many gators that have

come and gone since is Flower, her gator.

    After school and on weekends, Shirley and I played school;

we were the teachers and our younger brothers were the

students. Before long, though, real school and playing school

became boring. We moved on to other activities and plodded

along, awaiting Christmas vacation, and then Valentine's Day,

Easter vacation, and, finally, the last day of school.

   Report cards in hand, showing that we'd passed to the next

grade, we raced out the door, shouting, "School's out, school's

out; Teacher let the monkeys out. No more pencils, no more

books; no more teachers' dirty looks."

    Off we scrambled once again, helter-skelter into summer

fun: playing outside long after dark, picnics, the 4 th of July, and

the County Fair.