As a little girl, we had a gray and white cat called Cappy short for Captain Cook. Addie must have named him. We had a German Shepard named Butch and a canary called Flicka.
Poor old Cappy was prone to disaster with fighting squirrels and other cats, chasing birds and returning home with chunks out of his fur. Not having a car, Daddy took him to the vet in a basket on his bicycle and the dumb animal jumped out about a mile from home. Two weeks later, he came limping in. Whatever was wrong with him medically, he was cured. Guess he had some adventures of his own trying to find his way home.
Butch lived with us a long time and didn't meet his maker until the late 1950s. He was a great companion. I think we got him around the time Bill was born - like every boy should have a dog. He used to follow us to school until one of us would turn around and take him home. Many a time, he followed us into the movies, to the bank and everywhere in town. Everyone knew him. It was interesting that all the dogs in town were known as Shannon's dog, Pratt's Butch, Colgan's Blackie. Our dogs, cats, etc. didn't need a license, shots or whatever. They were just there to love and take care of us. Mom used to say that if a burglar came to the house, Butch would let him in. Such a big protector!
Flicka was a pretty yellow bird who couldn't sing or talk. Her life with us was relatively short and one morning, found her dead with her little feet in the air.
We had other pets thorugh the years but when people talk about theirs, these are the ones I think of.
Retiring the Lottabusha County Chronicles
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