My Favorite First Dog

Originally Published Dec. 2012

My childhood home was a big, white, two-story wooden house with a huge porch in front that encompassed the entire width of the house.  Dad put on screens in the spring and changed them to storm windows in the fall.  I loved that porch.  We had many tall oak trees on the south side of the lot that gave us a lot of shade.  Most of our meals were eaten on the porch.  Mom had a couple of floor lamps strategically placed amongst the very comfortable sofa and chairs.  The whole family hung out there during the hot days and in the evenings, the screens prevented the mosquitoes from eating us alive.  Many a sleepover party was held in that porch along with many card games and picnic suppers.

Our living room, which featured a huge picture window and a regular-sized window on each side, was on the other side of the porch.  Since central air conditioning was not invented in the 50’s – nor individual air conditioning units for that matter – the door and windows leading into our living room were usually open for fresh air.  Another reason, they were open was because of our dog, Butch.

You see, we lived next to the train tracks.  Butch, who truly believed he was a collie – but in reality, was probably part collie and part Golden Retriever – had two jobs in his lifetime.  One was to take care of us kids.  My mother always knew that if she could see Butch (or at least his tail in the field), she knew where we were.  

His other job (self appointed, I’m sure) was to chase the trains away.  In those days, the trains ran through my town maybe 10-12 times a day.  And each time, depending on where he was sleeping or what he was doing, Butch would run through the front door -- or jump through the open living room window – onto the porch and then push his way out the porch’s screen door.  He’d chase that train until it reached the next town (about 4 miles) and then he’d come back home.  His job was done.  Until the next time.  And then he was off, again!

Butch would let us do anything to him.  My sister, Joanne, and I loved to get him all dressed up.  We’d put mom’s apron around his middle, tie a scarf around his head, put mom’s jewelry around his neck, and place mittens on his feet.  And then we’d have him join our little tea party or fashion show or whatever game we happened to be playing.  He always made such a beautiful bridesmaid when we played “wedding.”  

Well, one day, while Butch was dressed in his finest outfit, he heard the whistle of the train.  Before we could grab him, he jumped through the window, ran across the porch and pushed the screen door.  He was off and running!  Remember how trains used to have a caboose?  And usually a conductor or someone on the caboose?  Well, this time was no different.  I can still picture the conductor laughing and laughing at Butch – running as fast as he could while trying not to trip on his apron.  I remember he did lose all four of his mittens; however, the apron and scarf were still intact when he returned from chasing that train out of town.  I do have to admit that this scenario was played out more than once or twice.  He had no shame.

One day, it was really a cool day so my mom shut the door and the windows.  Butch was sleeping when all of a sudden, he heard the train.  My mom just happened to be walking into the living room at the same time she saw him get up on all fours and got a running start to jump through the window to get onto the porch.  Just before he made the jump, she yelled, “B U T C H” and he came to a screeching halt.  Right in front of the living room couch. Since the train was still coming, mom quickly opened the front door and let Butch out.  He had his job to do, after all.

Butch lived to the ripe old age of 14 and thankfully, the number of trains going through town had diminished tremendously the last few years of his life.  I’d like to think that Butch sort of took credit for chasing those trains out of town.  It took many years, but they finally stopped.  Thanks, Butch.  Job well done!