Dogs that have known me Part 1

I recently read about a study rating the comparative intelligence of various breeds of dogs. Border collies came out on top, not unsurprisingly, and Labradors seemed to languish at the bottom.  This got me thinking about all of the dogs that I have known in my life and how they were quite dissimilar. 

The earliest one that I can remember was Speck, some sort of mixed-breed hunting-type dog that we had when we lived in California. He was really my brother Peter's dog but as the youngest child, I was at home more of the day and got to spend much time with him.  Speck was an energetic pup and I clearly recall the time I asked my Mum if I could take him for a walk.  Suitably leashed up I was allowed to take him on a romp in the backyard. We decided to have one last race over the patio towards the back door.  Speck went one way around a pillar and I went the other. The resultant bump on my forehead was the size of an egg and do believe I was not able to walk him on my own again.  When we returned to England at the end of 1960, Speck stayed behind in Northern California, no doubt rehomed into another loving family.

When we first arrived back in England, we stayed with my mother's mother at 144 Broadwater Road in Welwyn Garden City.  Her husband, Arthur Sperring, had died in 1959 so her only companion before we barged in was a wirehaired fox terrier name Punch.  Punch was a bit of a nippy canine but she loved that dog and I know my dad liked to sneak-feed him under the table at dinner.  After brother Iain was born in 1961 we moved out to Letchworth and Punch was left to the sole care of Noni.  Noni died in May of 1962 aged 69, the same that I am now.  I don't know what happened to Punch but I suppose a good home was found for him.

In December 1963 we returned to America for a couple of years and then came back to Egland in 1966.  We only stayed for a year before returning to what was now the family home on Hope Street in Marietta, Georgia. By September 1967 I had my first puppy, a dalmatian named Kelley. I suppose it was my parent's attempt at keeping me busy and giving me some responsibility.  I was going through a black-and-white phase having painted my bedroom with one black wall and white shelves and making a black-and-white jumper so the only logical thing to do next was to acquire a black-and-white dog.  Kelley was a sweet dog but appeared to be deaf, something dalmatians are prone to.  We got her at 8 weeks and she was just starting to outgrow puppyhood when she was hit by a car. Totally my fault, I learned a hard lesson that day about keeping dogs on a leash and the importance of dog training.



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