Mickey Was My Best Friend and Companion

Me with Mickey in 1959
Hat, Gloves & Mutton Coat

I was six years old when my parents bought me a golden tan and white Collie puppy.  I named her Mickey.  We grew up together.  I sometimes dressed her up when I was playing tea party and other games.  She never seemed to mind, as long as we were together.  My two brothers were older and did want to be bothered with me.  Mickey was my constant companion at home and my best friend.  When something good happened, I told her all about it.  If something unhappy happened, I told her about that too.  She sometimes put her long nose on my shoulder and whined when I was upset or unhappy.

The family all loved her.  We took her on trips to St. Louis to visit my mother's sister, Aunt Beulah and her family, and on other short trips.  Mickey curled up below my mom's feet in the floorboard and traveled well.  There was one problem we did have with Mickey on car rides, and that was that she would fart now and them.  The smell was bad!  If the windows were not down before she blessed us with her unique smell, they were open soon after.  We never figured out what made her fart, but it never kept us from bringing her with us on short trips.

As a female, she went into heat every ten to twelve months.  That was not a pleasant time for her, for me, or the rest of my family.  We had to keep her inside, and when we left for any reason, we had to put her in our shed and lock the door.  It must have been very hot in there. Today, we would have put a large fan in there for her.  Anyway, when my parents thought it was the right time, we drove to Poplar Bluff, Missouri to breed her with another Collie.  To the best of my recollection, she had three litters of puppies.  They were cute for the six or seven weeks of their lives that we possessed them.  We kept them on the back porch with their mother.  Because of Mickey's size, she was an outside dog.  I remember for one litter of pups she went under the house in the crawl space and gave birth to her puppies.  My father was not happy about having to get under the house and remove those puppies.  She usually had nine to twelve pups each time.  After the third litter of puppies, my folks took her to the Veterinarian and had her spayed.  She gave me much joy and comfort over the years.

One night I came home from a Sikeston High School football game, and all the lights were on, and the door was open.  No one was home, and the car was gone.  That was very odd, and I became frightened that something bad had happened.  About twenty minutes later, my parents came in, and it looked like they had been crying.  They looked at me compassionately.  Dad said, "We are sorry, Margaret.  Mickey is dead.  She had a heart attack.  We took her to the vet, and he gave her a shot.  He told us the shot would make her well or she would die.  In about five minutes, she awoke and looked at us, wagged her tail and we petted her.  We left her to pay the Vet for his services, and when we when back into the examining room to get her, she was gone.  We are sorry, Margaret."  I was sixteen at the time, and I had enjoyed Mickey's companionship for ten wonderful years.  I asked where she was and they said she was in the trunk of the car.  I went out to tell her goodbye, and I just petted her and talked to her for about twenty minutes.  I finally accepted the fact that she was gone and would never greet me again, never listen to my thoughts again, and a part of the childlike joy for life was vanquished that night.

The next day the whole neighborhood knew about Mickey's death.  My dad made a wooden crate, dug a hole in front of her dog house, put her in the crate, and we had a small memorial service.  Many neighbors attended, and several cried, along with me.  My heart ached when my Dad covered her with dirt, it acknowledged that my loss of a wonderful companion and friend was forever.

Dogs are excellent companion and friends to millions of Americans.  Today, even more than in earlier times, we treat them as a member of our family.  The small dogs are like our babies.  It is hard to say who received more gratification from the special bond we have with pets - them, or us.  I still miss you, Mickey!