“Recollections of a Pittsfield Kid” is a series of vignettes exploring the author’s youthful days in the Osceola Park neighborhood of Pittsfield, Massachusetts, during the 1950s and early 1960s. At the time of these adventures, the author was between seven and 12 years old.
Many of us have fond memories of our dogs: we gave them special places to eat and sleep, played with them in the yard, took their photos, and brought them with us to various places. To say they were literally part of one’s family is unsurprising. The story that I’m about to tell you will seem familiar at first, but it becomes quite extraordinary.
My family had many pets over the years at our residence at 706 West Housatonic Street in Pittsfield. My favorite dog, and that of many others in the Osceola Park neighborhood, was Lady. She was a golden retriever and brown labrador mix and was friendly, spirited, and disciplined. In those days, dogs were not required to be on leashes and only the most belligerent ever were.
Lady often went with me when I delivered newspapers or accompanied me and my siblings on our visits to the park. She sauntered along on our various fishing, hunting, and camping adventures, too.
Lady had been trained in dog “obedience” school as a puppy, and if we directed her to lay down and not eat the snack at her feet, she would obey until we released her from this command. At other times, we would blow on a “silent” dog whistle, and she would gallop home to eat because she realized that responding to the whistle meant that food and drink would be her reward. She was quite intelligent and a quick learner.
Part of the chores my siblings and I had to do around the house was to provide Lady’s food and water. Lady ate and drank at random times based on when one of us remembered to place her sustenance on our back porch. Some of our cats occasionally nibbled away at Lady’s food, unbeknownst to us at that time. Lady apparently acquiesced to this thievery and never squealed on the cats.
Come to think of it, poor Lady was being unevenly treated and somewhat underfed by us siblings, albeit innocently enough on our part. Self-forgiveness is a wonderful thing.
Because we didn’t feed her in a consistent way, Lady decided to take matters into her own paws. We may have been her masters, but, as it turned out, she wouldn’t necessarily continue to be fully dependent on us for her victuals.
One day I ran into one of our retired neighbors, Mrs. Muller, as I walked by her house. She looked at me a bit oddly and remarked that Lady seemed haggard and perhaps a bit underweight. I was surprised and puzzled by this, but went on my way without an afterthought. Another day, I went next door to play in the Dobinettes’ yard and noticed a bag of open dog food. I knew they didn’t have a dog and wondered if they’d recently gotten one.
Later in the summer, Mrs. Muller mentioned to me that Lady was so clever and well behaved. She went on to say that one morning, around 10 a.m., Lady had come to her back porch door and made one short, sharp barking sound, then patiently sat on her hind quarters as if expecting something in return. Mrs. Muller was amused by this and gave Lady a biscuit, which she ardently consumed and went on her way, wagging her tail.
The next day Lady reappeared at nearly the same time and repeated her actions, as did Mrs. Muller.
Over time we discovered that Lady would then continue on to the next house, occupied by the Prestors, perform the same stunt and get duly compensated with a little snack. Then she’d move on to the next house, that of the Dobinettes, and continue her successful ritual.
Lady had learned that a master’s command to wait to eat, to be patient, and to sit still would eventually lead to getting fed. So, instead of responding to human whims, Lady would get human neighbors to respond to her supplications and get treats as a result. “What’s good for the goose is good for the gander” she must have reckoned.
Little did we know that Lady simply preferred to dine on a certain routine schedule. She unpretentiously gauged how to fend for herself and eat at a predictable time. Just because we were casual about such matters, didn’t mean this attitude met with her approval.
The aphorism “necessity is the mother of invention” comes to mind here. Lady went about creating a more fulfilling life for herself. In spite of our faults, Lady, being true to her name, never admonished or lashed out. She lived to a ripe old age, forever remaining our faithful companion. We all deserve such a loyal friend.
