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Motherhubbard wanted me to write down some of the stories I've told her through the years about the dog we had growning up. His name was Bullger and he was the smartest, dumbest, greatest dog that ever lived. He was our friend and we all loved him. These are not good stories, just memories.


Throughout my life there has been one constant; pets. My family has always had a pet or two of some type. We always had dogs, cats, birds, or a mixture of two or all three. Some of my favorite people are dogs or cats. I know right off when I meet someone if I’m going to truly like them or not because I ask if they like pets. If they don’t, then I really have little use of them. I feel like there is something missing in a person who doesn’t like animals. Now there are folks who don’t have pets because of apartment restrictions or the inability to take proper care of them or allergies and these folks are ok. But if they come to my home and don’t like the idea of a dog or cat living with us, then they can just leave.
Our pets have always been a part of our family and treated as one of us. They are loved and respected and cared for.

When I was growing up, we always had at least one dog and one cat. Some of my best memories of growing up involve our dogs. My favorite dog from when I was a kid was Bullger. Bullger was a short, squat, black dog of unknown breed who came to us from somewhere I’ve forgotten. He came to us because whoever gave him to us thought he was the perfect twin to our other dog, Tiger. Tiger was a small black Chihuahua mix with a white blaze on his chest and white front toes. Bullger was exact match except for size.
Where Tiger was tiny and slim, Bullger was short, broad, and chunky. They grew up together and were best friends.

Where I lived, the noon hour was signaled by the fire siren sounding. This happened everyday except Sunday. About 11:50 everyday both Tiger and Bullger would go outside and wait for the siren. Then they would sing and howl for the minute it took for the siren to sound. It was like a ritual for them. Then they would go back to whatever they were doing.

Bullger was a smart dog in many ways. We all believed that he understood everything we said and he always tried to follow the directions he was given. One Easter we received two baby chicks. Well, every Easter we went to our Grandparents house for an egg hunt. I think it was an early Easter because it was still pretty chilly. Before we left for Grandma and Papa’s, we place the box with the baby chicks in the corner by the heater and asked Bullger to keep them from getting out of the box. When we came home several hours later, Bullger was laying beside the box with one chick under one paw and the other one under the other paw. Apparently they had gotten out of the box and he was keeping them safe.

We could give Bullger a note to give to our Mother and he would do everything he could to take it to her. If she was too busy to notice him, he would continue to follow her around until the note was wet with slobber. He wouldn’t eat or drink anything until she took the note from him. We thought it was the funniest thing. We’d give him a tiny piece of paper to take to her and he’d hold it between his front teeth and follow her around for hours. She thought it was cruel to do this to him because he wouldn’t drop the paper for anything until she took it.

Bullger would follow us everywhere. But he didn’t have any sense of direction. One Sunday afternoon my brother and I decided to walk to our Grandparent’s house about 6 blocks away and he followed us. We ended up staying later than we had planned so our Papa drove us home. Bullger was expected to walk home. When he didn’t show up, we were not worried because we just figured that he had decided to stay and visit Papa and Grandma a while. Three days later, Papa drove up with Bullger in the car. He told us that he didn’t think Bullger could find his way back home. He would start out in about every direction at one time or another and come back.

Bullger would get lazy in the summer. It was always hot and there wasn’t a lot of shade where I lived. Most of the trees had been cut down to make room for more cotton to be planted. During the summer months, the underpinning of the house was opened by removing a panel on all sides of the house so air would flow through. One summer we couldn’t find Bullger all day. We all looked and looked, worried that someone had stolen him (as if anyone else would want him). Then my youngest brother found him lying under the house where it was always shady. We knew he was just trying to stay cool so we left him alone. Well, three days later, he was still under the house. Everyday we would go call to him and try to see if he was alright, but he never moved or responded in any way. So, after three days we just knew he had crawled under the house to die. With all seven of us gathered around crying, my oldest brother crawled under the house to get Bullger’s body so we could bury him. It was a tight squeeze for him but he finally got near Bullger so he could lift his body onto an old cotton pillow case and drag him out. Well, when he reached to lift him up, Bullger got up and came out from under the house. There was nothing wrong with him at all! He was just napping and staying cool. We all started running and jumping around in joy. Bullger must have thought we were playing chase because he started chasing us and jumping around too, like nothing unusual was going on.

I don’t see kids hanging out with their dogs like we did growing up. Now I see them in a fenced back yard and the kids going out to feed and water them once a day or maybe playing with them for a few minutes after school. Our dogs went everywhere we did. If we were playing ball, they were there. If we were riding bikes, they were running along beside us. They were our friends, one of us, a member of the gang.