Everything was not always completely happy on Willow Brook Road so I don’t want to give you a false Pollyanna vision. We lost several pets to neighbors’ dogs and to vehicular accidents. Freddy 1 sadly met his demise on the road, probably a victim of one of the many gravel trucks shuttling up and down our road on a daily basis. Despite our best efforts to keep him in the fenced in yard, he loved to burrow under the fence and go exploring around the neighborhood. Dachshunds were bred to burrow, so he was a natural at it!
Most of our pets were outside pets except for the dogs who lived inside with us. On more than one occasion Suzanne and I did bring the horses into the house, to our Mother’s dismay. No doubt Bess and Princess thought this was a strange sort of barn, but they willingly followed us up the stairs and into the house. Cats were to be strictly outside pets. At one point we acquired two six-month old kittens. With our usual skill at naming pets, they were christened Cupcake and Muffin. They were quite affectionate and generally slept in the playhouse or the garage.
Our neighbors on one side were a spinster by the name of Sereatha Peacock, her widowed sister, and their very elderly mother whom everyone called Momma Peacock. Sereatha sticks in my memory for two main reasons. I still have a wonderful pound cake recipe called “Sereatha’s Pound cake” which I still bake from time to time. She also owned a beauty salon in the more hoity-toity Highland Park area where all the little blue-haired ladies got their hair done. On one occasion my Mother took me to her salon for a perm. I came out looking like the lead character in Little Orphan Annie. I don’t know who was more horrified, my Mother or me! Needless to say, we didn’t become on-going patrons. That is why you never go to friends or neighbors for any type of hair services I’ve learned. It is easier to ditch a stranger if you don’t like the results.
These three ladies had a Pit Bull who resided in a small dog enclosure behind their house. He was very aggressive, and all the neighborhood kids feared his charges at the sturdy chain link enclosure accompanied by fierce barking and growling. As I look back, I suspect the poor dog was probably an unfortunate victim of poor training and neglect, but he was one of the few dogs I have ever genuinely been afraid of. On one awful day he got out of his pen and headed to our backyard where in front of our horrified eyes, he found the two unsuspecting kittens and quickly killed both before retreating back to his own yard. My father came running out of the house to the hysterical screaming of his two little girls. Always a person of quick action, he grabbed a heavy pipe wrench and took off in hot pursuit of the killer. The Pit Bull had wisely retreated back into the doghouse in his pen. Daddy was fully prepared to become the Old Testament dispenser of justice, “an eye for an eye.” The only thing that saved the dog was old Momma Peacock, wearing her usual sunbonnet and apron, standing in front of the pen and begging our Dad not to kill the murderer. Daddy finally relented with stern admonitions about what would happen if the dog ever put so much as a paw in our yard again. Soon thereafter they got rid of the Pit Bull to everyone’s great relief.
Our neighbors on the other side were a very ecumenical couple named the Cottons. Alvin was a fallen-away Catholic, and Sylvia was Jewish. She had the bleached blond hair of the 50’s and was, shall we say, pleasingly plump? I did learn quite a few Yiddish phrases from Sylvia, most of which were probably best not repeated in mixed company. I learned about Hanukkah, which always occurs close to our Christmas. How wonderful to have seven days of celebrating with gifts. Being somewhat mercenary, I thought my family should celebrate both holidays–more presents!
The Cottons had an only child, a son between us in age. He was somewhat spoiled, or so we thought. For a very brief time he also had a horse, but boys just don’t seem to have the natural affinity toward horses that little girls do. I think we were sort of little stinkers as one of our great delights was climbing up on the roof of the stable with a good stash of horse “missiles.” We would lie flat on the roof until our unsuspecting target happened to come into range, and then we would pelt him with our little horsey bombs, frequently bringing him to tears. His threats of “I’m going to tell my Mother” just produced another volley at our poor target! With two horses, we never ran out of an ample supply of ammunition!
The Cottons also had a series of miniature white poodles with little jeweled collars and painted nails. How disgusting, I thought! One of the fiendish little poodles made an excursion into our yard on one horrific day, killing a number of our tame Mallard ducks. I still remember the sight of my Mother, with tears streaming down her face, picking up those poor, broken bodies. The same beastly poodle also killed our replacement kitten, a long-haired little white cat creatively named Fluffy. Our next cat was a tailless Manx cat with a bit of a temper and very effective claws. Since he weighed about the same as the poodle, we had no more problems with incursions from the effeminate little beast next door!
To this day, pit bulls and poodles are my least favorite breeds of dog, although I know you shouldn’t judge an entire breed by the actions of a few miscreants!
