My slow dear beagle

We lived on a farm and owned two beagles.   A bright smart handsome beagle, perky and sleek and a goofy kinda ugly beagle that looked like a mix.  He was slower and friendlier to us girls and I adored him.  My grandfather didn't like him much and called him a stupid worthless thing and so we kind of had something in common. He was named Sammy after Sammy Davis Jr. because my grandfather said he kinda looked like him with that one droopy eye.

My favorite pastime was to pick ticks off of Sammy and squish them with a rock.  I liked seeing the blood splat out.  Another thing I liked to do was throw the ball over the top of our tiny tiny house and run around to the other side and try to catch it before he got it or it hit the ground.   But he was a slow thing and even I could get to the ball first.   He would kinda bound the wrong way and dodge out of the way to let me grab it

The other dog was twice as fast and if he was around would grab the ball and be off with it. Dang showoff. I left his ticks on him for someone else to pick off.  

They were hunting dogs, but my beagle got left behind a lot.  He just didn't have that beagle drive to tree a possum or grab a rabbit.   One day he brought me a new born rabbit ever so gently in his mouth. and laid it before my feet. I guess he wanted me to tend to it, it was completely unharmed.

One day five years into their lives, my grandfather found his favorite hound dead.  He found him in the right of way between our farm and the neighbors.  There was a big chunk of some partially eaten carcass and the dog was dead and bloated nearby.  He came to the conclusion that he had been poisoned by someone who had left the meat there. probably the neighbor we weren't speaking to.

Grandpa flew into a rage.  He swore.  He was beside himself with grief.  His eyes bulged out and there was spit coming from his mouth.

He goes to find my dog to see if he's all right.  He finds Sammy alive and it enrages him more.  The poor fellow is unaccountably lying in my grandmother's flower bed.  "Why couldn't it be you?!?" he screams at the bewildered dog.

Grandpa goes into the house.  Screams at Grandma. "I'ma going to kill that sonofabitch"  He gets his shotgun.  Loads it.   My grandmother doesn't say a word.  She catches up my sister and holds her to her closely with her head buried in her chest.   I fly at my Grandfather.  Don't Don't! DON'T!

I run to the window to watch.  My grandmother says  "Don't look, Rosie, You will never forget something like that."  She tries to grab me from the window,   I stay put.   Grandpa takes aim and fires. The dog jerks on the ground.  I scream.   He fires again.  This time no movement.


He comes back in and puts the shotgun away.  He is covered with rancid skunkish sweat.  The house is silent.

"You didn't have to do that."  she says to him.