NEW CASTLE —
I used to have a dog. He was a good dog. A very good dog, in fact. His name was Pete. He was a pure bred Brittany Spaniel, with AKC papers and came from a long line of great hunting and show dogs. He was white and uniformly marked with various brown spots, which I guess is desirable in most breeds of dogs. He also had cute, floppy ears and a cropped tail.
I would have to estimate that I was 11 or 12 years old when I got him. He was my first dog and quickly became my constant companion. He would follow my brother and I around the woods and on our various biking adventures. He would accompany us on our many fishing trips and often made us feel safer when we were off alone in some forgotten spot of the deep woods behind our house or so far down stream that things were no longer comfortable and familiar.
One summer I recall my dad and I taking a fishing expedition to the Slippery Rock Creek near Kennedy Mills. This was a usual occurrence and seemed to happen almost weekly, but this time we brought Pete along. He loved the ride as much as the fishing and when we caught something (we always did) he loved chasing the fish as it flopped and flailed around, trying to get back to the water.
We worked our way downstream to one of the huge, smooth rocks at the water's edge. We had our poles and buckets and, of course, we had caught our own bait in our secret little stream before heading to the creek. Dad was baiting his hook as Pete and I sat on the rock waiting for our turn. Dad had the mini pinned between his thumb and index finger of one hand and the hook between the the same fingers on the other hand.
Then, something happened! As he was about to plunge the razor-sharp end of the hook into the mini, Pete saw something that interested him. He took off across the rock, between where my dad had laid his pole and the precision crafted hook. The problem with this is that a thin strand of nearly invisible fishing line was strung across his path. As he lurched forward, I heard my dad scream. Pete's paws tangled in the line and the hook imbedded itself deep in my father's thumb. As my dad yelled, the point of the hook protruded from the opposite side of my his finger. His agony only served to confuse Pete and make him scamper about on the rock, further tangling his feet and amplifying my father’s pain and the tension on the line. Each move Pete made radiated through the line into my dad's thumb.
Needless to say, our fishing trip was cut short that day. You could almost see the guilt in Pete's eyes as we loaded up our gear in the truck. I know he felt bad, but not nearly as bad as my dad's thumb had to be hurting.
Late that summer we had been outside playing with Pete in the yard and surrounding area and Mom called us in for dinner. As we were finishing up our dinner, the phone rang. It was a neighborhood friend of ours named Bobby. He said, “I think I saw Pete on Lakewood Road.” He paused. “I think he got hit by a car.”
Silence. My mind raced and my eyes welled.
“I think he's dead,” Bobby said.
I don’t remember hanging up the phone or speaking to anyone. I only remember frantically climbing into my dad's truck and the small eternity that it took my dad to drive down our driveway and up the road.
We pulled off to the side of the road at the spot where Bobby had said Pete was. A small crowd of neighbors had begun to gather to see what the commotion was. As I exited the truck, I caught a glimpse of white peaking from behind the blades of tall grass at the roadside. I drew closer, hoping and praying that it wasn't true. But there was Pete, laying motionless in the weeds. “Pete! Pete!” I muttered through my gush of tears. I couldn't bear to look. I leaned against the truck, staring at the ground.
My dad went over, put his arms under Pete's lifeless body, gently scooped him up, and placed him in the back of the aging pickup truck as I climbed back into the cab of the truck without a word. I heard the tailgate slam closed behind me and I turned around to stare at my friend and loyal companion through the dirty glass. With my face pressed against the rear window and tears streaming down my cheeks, we drove back home silently.
Once we arrived home, my dad quickly grabbed a shovel and had us follow him into the woods where Pete and I had spent countless hour playing. He made his way directly to a big, old, oak tree and started digging.
I stood there sobbing, shaking, and crying uncontrollably while Dad prepared the final resting place for my friend. Once the hole was complete, he lowered Pete's wilted body down into the hole and handed me the shovel. Crying like a babe, I grasped the shovel and laid the first fateful pieces of earth on top of him, returning him to the earth and forever putting a period at the end of our time together.
Josh Drespling
Related Photos
-
About Josh Drespling: Josh is a former graphic designer at The News. His blog appears each Saturday.
Discussion
Josh Drespling: A boy's best friend remembered
- Josh Drespling
-
-
Josh Drespling: Sick and tired of being sick and tired
I'm sick of being sick! It has been over a week now fighting this ungodly pestilence that has settled in my body. Despite my best efforts, this plague has taken a firm hold of every avenue of my being. It has become the most constant and present force in my life.
-
Josh Drespling: Thank you, Mom. I’ve never said this before but ...
I'm a terrible son. I’ll can freely admit my shortcomings. Well, maybe not as awful as some. I've never been in prison or killed anyone (though I may have thought about it). I’ve never been a drug addict or a drunk. I remember most of the holidays, birthdays and celebrations and I'm capable of supporting myself and my family.
-
Josh Drespling: Leaving a paper trail blows my ‘cool’
As you probably already know, I am the coolest guy in the room no matter the company or the occasion. I am dapper, handsome, and, of course, the hippest. I am the most “in” guy and, by default, the most trendy person this side of the muddy Mississippi. My non-mainstream fashion sense and musical independence exemplify my elite status.
-
Josh Drespling: Please bear with me as I remember my brother’s special friend
As you may have picked up on in my past blogs, I grew up in a home that had only little money to spare. We made the best of all things and found our way by being resourceful and frugal.
-
Josh Drespling: Appointment! What appointment?
Dear Mr. Optometrist: Thank you for the polite reminder about my upcoming appointment. The postcard you sent in the mail was quite helpful.
-
Josh Drespling: Spring is (finally) in the air — enjoy!
We have missed you, my friend. We have all longed for your warmth, vibrance, and energy. The cold gray of winter has had us locked in its icy grasp for far too long. We greet your arrival with great anticipation and long for the newness you will bring.
-
Josh Drespling: But the time it finally clicked, it was too late — I had made a big mistake
OK, I did it. I’ll admit it. I clicked on the flashing banner on the side of the web page. You know, the one offering you great new discounted auto insurance rates or some miraculous cure to all that ails you. I know you have seen them all and have been tempted to click them just to see if you could save a few bucks or transform your life.
-
Josh Drespling: Size Does Matter
Maybe I'm turning into the old miser who chases the kids off his lawn while screaming some intangible string of expletives about staying off his grass. Maybe I'm stuck in my ways and afraid to embrace forward progress. But there comes a time to stand your ground and put your foot down. Such a time as this.
-
Josh Drespling: Afraid to speak in public? Really, it will be OK
I'm imagining you all naked right now. Did you know that a majority of the American population fear public speaking more than death itself? Yes, they would rather be in the coffin than give the eulogy.
-
Josh Drespling: Growing tall enough to witness historic leaves of change
There is a giant, old oak tree near the top of Jefferson Street Hill in New Castle. From his perch on the North Hill, he has an expansive view of all that is New Castle. From his perspective, he can see from the West Side across the whole downtown area, through the South Side, up to the very top of Sheep Hill, and back across to the city's East Side.
- More Josh Drespling Headlines
-
