Remembering a Trusted Companion

You may recall my blog about picking cotton in Arizona as a child and that we were there because Dad had committed a crime in California and was on the run.

We stayed in Arizona for about seven months. Eventually time ran out for Dad. The local police gave him a choice, be locked up and face an extradition hearing or voluntarily return to California and surrender. It was early spring 1957. He chose the latter.

When we got back to California my Mom found a woman to take care of us.

It was typical of Mom to farm us out somewhere when taking care of us seemed overwhelming to her. This time Mom said she couldn’t take us with her where she had found a new job. Turns out it was a barmaid job at a lodge on Mt. Baldy. Part of her pay was a room in the lodge and she couldn’t have children stay with her.

The woman she left us with lived alone and seemed pleased to have me and my sister around. I remember Mrs. Devonshire very fondly.

A widow in her late 40s or so, she had a nice place in Chino. I even had my own bedroom. Best of all, she treated us with love and kindness we had rarely known.

The town was quite rural at that time and Mrs. Devonshire’s nearest neighbor lived about 100 yards down the road. On the other side of her property was a huge vacant lot.

She had made her living for years raising dogs – Pekinese and Cocker Spaniels. She abandoned the business when her husband died. The pens still stood in back of her home but they had long been empty.

She still had two Pekinese, which were her pets and she dearly loved. She also had one Cocker Spaniel left – and her name was Rusty. A female with AKC lineage, she had been strictly a breeding dog.

Rusty and I became quick companions. She had long floppy ears and a stubby tail that wagged constantly. She loved to run and play. Rusty got her name because she was a rust colored spaniel – not a very common color for the breed.

At the time Rusty was hardly a pup. She was my age to be exact. I had turned eight just a few months before moving into Mrs. Devonshire’s home.

I can’t help but think that Rusty liked having the attention of a young boy.

With that big vacant lot next door it was like having our own private park. We ran and played there day after day. Sometimes we’d roll around on the ground, her licking my face and me laughing and hugging her.

We went everywhere together. Of course, she was well trained, knew how to heel and obeyed other commands. Most of all she was a sweet and loving dog.

Mrs. Devonshire saw us together and took me aside one day. She told me that when we left her I could take Rusty with me.

It meant so much to me and I was ecstatic. I remember hugging her hard and crying, I was so happy.

Eventually Dad’s sentence passed. Mom came back to claim my sister and me. It was summer by this time.

Thankfully, because Mom and Dad found a house in Mt. Baldy Village, they didn’t have any problem with Rusty coming with me.

Again, it was a perfect setting for a boy and a dog – all that wilderness. I remember it well.

I turned nine that fall and had always had a fascination with camping and hiking. So living in a mountain village was heavenly for both me and Rusty. We explored all of it that we could.

We lived on Mt. Baldy for a year and it was a wonderful time. Rusty went everywhere with me – fishing in the stream for trout, long hikes on the numerous trails around, camping outings with the Cub Scout pack I joined, and just plain walking around the village.

Eventually our family moved to Ontario where we moved into an old rickety house. It was condemned after we moved out and probably should have been razed before we moved in. It turned out to be our longest stay in any one place of my childhood.

Again Rusty and I wandered the neighborhood together. We turned 10 together that fall of 1958 – I’d started thinking of her birthday as the same as mine.

Rusty was very protective of me and when the neighborhood bully came after me she came to my defense growling and snapping at him and he backed away. I really didn’t need her help. I’d met my share of bullies before. They always hated me because I never backed down and fought back. Still it was nice to have her as an ally.

The other neighborhood kids seemed to love Rusty.

There was only one other dog in the neighborhood. He was a mean German Shepherd that barked constantly at the kids in the neighborhood as we’d walk by the house where he lived. Thankfully, he never left his owners yard.

So Rusty was a wonderful playmate for the neighborhood kids as she was for me. I think she was a lot of the reason they befriended me.

Just a little more than a year later, Mom gave birth to my brother – just a month after my 11th birthday. She’d become pregnant a few months before Dad had committed another crime and was incarcerated at the state prison Chino.

My brother’s birth was a turning point of sorts.

After completing his one-year sentence, Dad was again released and joined us in the Ontario house.

My parents started complaining about Rusty. She had developed cataracts in her eyes, not uncommon for a Cocker Spaniel, and she was going blind. But there seemed to be something else that I can’t quite put my finger on.

All I remember is that they just didn’t seem to like her any longer.

Some where around the fall of 1961, I came home from school one day and Rusty was gone. I walked the neighborhood for hours calling out for her. She didn’t respond.

That evening my parents told me that they had taken her to the vet for shots and when they came home that she ran off.

I cried. I hurt. I didn’t understand. I felt crushed. All I could think was that my dog, my beloved Rusty, had run away from me.

It truly is one of the most painful events of my life. I feel my eyes well with tears even now as I recall it.

Years later my Mom admitted to me that she and Dad had Rusty put down by the vet. She said that because of Rusty’s failing eyesight she had been snapping at my infant brother.

I don’t remember seeing anything like that. All I remember is my loving companion.

We only had about four years together. Obviously I’ve never forgotten her. She is one of the very bright spots in an otherwise dark upbringing.

For the last several years cats have been my companions. I’ve dearly loved every one of them.

But I believe that there is nothing like the love a boy has for his first dog.

Some people find some irony in the fact that Rusty eventually became my nickname.

Taking the name Rusty really didn’t have anything to do with her. Nonetheless, it’s a nice kind of irony.
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Shortly after writing the first draft of this blog, I walked out to the front of my home. I do this from time to time for fresh air and just to gaze up and down my neighborhood.

Coming down the street was a man walking his dog – a rust colored Cocker Spaniel. I was dumbfounded.

This was beyond irony. It was absolutely surreal. I could almost hear the Twilight Zone theme in my head.

With the passing of one of my cats years ago someone sent me an essay called “The Rainbow Bridge.” It is about a place where our pet companions go to wait for us to join them once we pass on. I love the essay and its imagery and harbor a hope that it might be true.

Seeing that man and his dog made me wonder. I felt as if somehow Rusty was reaching out to me from that place to let me know that she is still waiting for me.

I certainly hope so.