The Boy and His Dog (and Cat)

When my dad was young, he had a cat. And he had a dog--but not both at the same time. They were living in Lake Zurich, in the house that his dad built. Dad’s room was built over the utility room—you know, the room with the furnace and the washing machine and tubs. Tony had two windows that looked out over the yard, and a trellis climbed up the side of the house, close to his room.

Nonnie Agnes, with Tony and Donna, 1946.

It was this trellis that Patrick the Cat would scale when he wanted to curl up next to Tony to sleep. Patrick was a cat’s cat: aloof, independent, scornful of (most) affection, a mighty hunter, a great lover, and a ferocious fighter. He loved his boy, and not many others.

Patrick certainly wanted nothing to do with Grandma, and Grandma wanted nothing to do with such a disreputable creature. On those summer mornings, after Patrick had crept up the trellis late at night, across the short roof, and squeezed through the slightly open window, to purr his boy to sleep, Grandma would come in to wake Tony, find Patrick, and start screaming. “Get that filthy creature out of here! Outdoor cats don’t belong in indoor beds!”

Patrick lived a full life, roaming wherever he would, seeking out female companionship, fending off rivals, and supplementing his table-scraps diet with whatever he could pounce on. Thus is was that he met his end. No, not due to prey that fought back, but human encroachment upon his hunting grounds. He stepped on a trap, and was caught fast. Days later, the human hunter came upon him and released him, but by then he was too far gone to be saved, and a neighbor put him out of his misery, leaving it to Grandpa to break the news to his son.

There were no more cats for Tony, indoor or outdoor.

He did, however, have a dog. An overgrown puppy named Boy, as a matter of fact. Boy was a mixture of Husky and Collie. Standing shoulder-high to young Tony, he was a happy-go-lucky ball of fluffy white fur, always up for some fun with his boy. (Having trouble picturing Boy? Try this page.)

Boy was so powerful, and my dad so undersized, that Tony would hitch Boy to his scooter, and let Boy tow him on his scooter up and down the gravel roads. During the day, Boy would be tied to a tree in the yard, with about 20 feet of play in the rope, and play he would, snapping at leaves and Grandma as she hung the wash. Whenever his boy was home, they were off the leash together.

About a year after Boy came home with Tony, tragedy struck. Grandpa took my dad into town in the car, to pick out some Christmas presents. Off they went, down the drive, down the road, never realizing that Boy was following, trying to get to his boy. Grandpa turned onto the four-lane highway and sped on into town. Boy never made it across the lanes. A neighbor found him, and brought him home. That was the end of pets for the boy. His heart just wasn’t in it.

Through the years, there were other family pets, but it would be 50 years before he would let another dog into his heart.

Of course that, my friends, is another tale, for another time.