Easter Dog Gone!

Remembering the pets I had as a child, and with the approach of Easter comes a story that still makes me giggle.

Mom and Dad went to the animal shelter and brought home a nice looking dog on Friday. We often went to the grandparent’s house on the weekend for dinner. It took 35 to 45 minutes to travel from our home to their house at the coast.

Everything went fine during the trip over with Mom, Dad, me and the dog sharing the bench seat in the cab of Dad’s 1954 Ford pickup. But, the return trip was not so pleasant.

The new dog had a bad case of methane explosions that erupted every five to ten minutes. Each time Mom would say, “Al, pull over. The dog has to go to the bathroom.”

The drizzling rain was cold and bringing a wet dog back into the truck just added to an already odiferous situation. The dog was banished to the floorboard and continued to have gas attacks. Finally, after about four pit stops along the road we arrived home.

Mother gave the dog some concoction to make it smell better, I guess, and we all retired for the night with pup-dog confined to the back porch.

The next morning I got up to check on the dog. The porch floor was covered with smelly liquid poop. Relating this to Mom between outbursts of laughter, my story of the dog’s antics resulted in me having to clean up the mess. The dog was returned to the animal shelter that day.

Later, we learned that the Easter egg hunt at the grandparent’s house the week before had left a few hard boiled eggs unclaimed. The poor dog had evidently found and eaten a rotten egg or two!

 
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 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This story contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher. Copyright 2014, G.M. Curtis.

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On the Wrong Track

102_6645.jpg It was dark and cold. Not raining yet, but threatening to at any moment. Michael slowed his pickup and stopped before crossing the railroad tracks. He was just bumping over the first set of rails when he saw the bright light through his passenger window. The blast of a horn blowing along with the vibration and rumble of a train bearing down on him caused Michael to turn his eyes away in horror. He knew he was about to die.
 The locomotive struck the little Toyota pickup and knocked it down the tracks. The shrill screech of metal being crushed and mangled was swallowed up in the squeal and hiss of the train’s brakes. What was left of the vehicle was flung off the tracks. Eight locomotives thundered on by not coming to a stop until a half mile from the point of impact.

Doors to houses along the street popped open and porch lights came on. People stepped out to see what had happened. Some called to others asking questions that got no answers. A car traveling along the street thumped over something lying in the road. The woman inside the vehicle told the driver to stop so she could throw whatever it was out of the way. She was worried that someone else might hit the object and damage their car.

Exiting her car, the woman walked back and found a crushed automobile wheel with a severely mangled tire lying on the ground. Lifting it with some effort, she stepped to the side of the road and let it slide down in the shallow ditch. She saw something moving down the embankment.

Thinking it to be an injured animal she cautiously drew closer and discovered it was a young man lying in the mud. His left arm was skewed in an unnatural position. In the dim light coming from the homes across the street she could see blood oozing from his nose, mouth and ears. His breathing seemed labored.

She knelt down and called out to him. Not sure if he could hear her she called out to him again, a little louder this time. His only response was a low, rasping moan. He was alive.

Turning back toward the houses on the other side of the street she hollered to the closest person she saw, “Call 911! And somebody get me a blanket out here right away.”

It was just a few minutes past 5 o’clock on the evening of December 14, 1992, twelve days before Christmas.

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ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This story contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher. Copyright 2014, G.M. Curtis.

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My Narrow Escape – The Halloween Scare

Approaching Halloween I thought this story might be timely. Childhood memories come full circle during holiday seasons, so I hope you enjoy this true story.

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I was ten years old that Halloween when my friend, Sandy, invited me to Trick or Treat with her and her friends. Mom and Dad had gone shopping and I was home watching the Mickey Mouse Club when the phone rang.

“Is this Marie?” a male voice asked. “This is Uncle Fred with the Mickey Mouse Club.”

“Don’t talk to strangers” had been my parent’s rule from my earliest memory. I didn’t answer right away, so the caller continued.

“We have a surprise for you but you must watch the Mickey Mouse show to find out what it is,” the man said.

Excited, because that was my favorite program, I ignored my parent’s warning. “I watch the show every day,” I bragged, hoping to impress Uncle Fred.

“Make sure you watch the show at 5:30. We will be calling you,” the man said, and then hung up.

I was confused because the show was just ending at 5 pm, but I waited until 5:30 and checked every channel, (we only had about 5 or 6 in those days) but it never came on again so a few minutes later I left the house to meet Sandy.

We four girls covered all the houses along Sandy’s street and then rounded the corner onto my block. A strange car was parked in front of my house. It had a white roof with a teal green body, a 1955 Plymouth coupe, as I remember. (I knew cars well but was young enough that getting a license plate number didn’t enter my mind.) The lights in my house were still off so I knew my parents had not yet come home.

Our property was surrounded by a four foot tall hedge with an opening for the driveway. I was just telling everyone about the odd phone call I’d received before leaving the house. We were to the end of the property line with our next door neighbor when a man and woman rushed out from behind each side of the hedged driveway, jumped into the car and sped away.

Frightened out of our wits, we all dashed to the neighbor’s house. Our neighbor lady called the police right away. The officers came and questioned us girls, then my folks showed up about that time. One policeman told me that had I stayed home and answered the door I may have been kidnapped. That was one Halloween “Trick” I will never forget.

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ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This story contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher. Copyright 2013, G.M. Curtis.

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Grand Cayman

Grand Cayman

Relax and Write

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