Sunday, December 9, 2012

The White Dog

Hi my name is Brenda Carney Eldred, I graduated high school in Dexter Mo in 1965. For many years now I
have journaled but a few years ago, I started to write. Writing was for myself or to share with family and friends. I received so much encouragement that I started putting a book together. I have not published it yet, but decided to blog to see if others would enjoy my writings also. I told my sister Becky that I was lost when it comes to computers but she encouraged me to just jump in and see what happens. So here I am. My book is Journey of Grace, it is about God's amazing grace in my life, also poetry and other short  stories. I will share some of my writing every few days. Today, to get started, I share a piece I wrote last month for my writers group. I am in my third year with the Ozarks Chapter of American Christian Writers. Here is my first published blog story.The White Dog is about Christmas and the white stuffed dogs, our brother James gave Linda and I one year before we started school.
                                                         

                                                               The White Dog
     Linda and I were only six that Christmas, so long ago. I don't remember what time of day it was, presents had been opened and we were playing on the floor. Mom, dad and sister Phyllis was there and our brother Kenny, who was two years older than Linda and I.
     Suddenly our brother James, who was fifteen, came through the door dragging a hugh  box. He had saved his money from helping dad in the family business, just for Christmas. My eyes grew big with excitement as Linda and I learned the box was for us. Looking at the box through six year old eyes, it seemed like it touched the ceiling. James had to lay the box on its side for us to open. Out of the box, we each dragged a large white fluffy dog. They were almost as big as we were.
     The dogs had a large head that rested on its front paws. Long floppy ears that touched the floor. A body large enough for a six year old to sit on and it had a short fluffy tail. Throughout Christmas day you could find Linda and I playing with our dogs. Sometimes lying on the floor, using them as a pillow. Other times sitting on them and using the ears to hold onto like a halter.
     Aunt Joe and Uncle Junior came in with their kids, Susan four and Wade two. For the next several hours, the four of us spent time playing and talking, but the center attraction for all of us was the white dogs.
     From that day forward, my white dog always sat beside my bed. A few years later, we moved into the big house on the hill, after Grandma Carney passed away. My dog could still be found beside my bed. My sister Becky, eleven years younger, could be found from time to time sitting or playing with the white dog.
     As I grew into my teenage years, my dog found its way under the bed and was forgotten for several years. Then as I prepared for my wedding and was putting things in storage, in a spare room at my parents home, I found my dog once again. It was so very dirty but the memories of that Christmas came flooding back. I dusted it off and carefully packed it away with most of our wedding gifts. I was only able to take what would fit into a mustang. David was in the air force, stationed at Altas, Oklahoma and our apartment was furnished. Personal items and clothing was all I took with me.
     Nine months later David was on his way to Guam and I joined him three months later. More things were added to the storage for the next two years. Finely back in the states and settled in Illinois, we had all of our belongs with us. The white dog once again found its place at the side of our bed.
     Two little boys came along and from time to time would play with the white dog. A few times I told the story of that special Christmas day, when their uncle James, gave me the white dog. They have probably forgotten by now, it was so long ago.
     As the boys grew and left home, my dog once again found its way to my room, in the closet, under the bed and finely under a chair. I could see it each time I entered the room and went to the closet and I fondly remembered that special Christmas. Strange but I never did give the white dog a name.
     Then at fifty nine and rearranging the room I decided it was time to get rid of the white dog. It was stained from many years of playing.Most of the fluffy material was gone and its head no longer stood up but fell to one side. The ears were so droopy and no fuss was left at all. Little did I know my dear brother James would lose his battle with cancer, just over a year latter.
     Now I only have pictures and the memories. But I have put those memories into words so that some day my grandchildren can read about the white dog that meant so very much to their grandmother and they can see the joy of that day in the pictures of Linda, Susan, Wade and I with the white dogs on that very special Christmas Day.

(c) Copyright 2012 all rights reserved.

   



   







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