Pirate's Baby

The last time we went to Arizona, Linda's dog Pirate just about had a heart attack from having so many kids around. He's used to just Linda and Keith, and he has one other dog buddy that comes over some to visit. He stayed hidden under a bed most of the time we were there.

Last summer when we were in Oregon with David's family, we reminded the kids that Pirate doesn't want to be bugged or petted or disturbed. He took off as soon as we walked in. Even when the kids were on the beach and it was just adults, he didn't want to be messed with. Until he discovered Daniel.

Once he figured out that Daniel couldn't do anything to him, he followed that baby around wherever we took him. He slept by Daniel's blanket. He laid next to Daniel's bouncy chair. When Daniel started to cry, Pirate would run to whatever adult was nearest to make sure you knew his baby was crying and needed some attention.





This weekend when we got to David's aunt's house, Pirate was already asleep. But the next morning when all the kids were playing in the backyard, Pirate made sure to keep his distance. Even when I tried to pet him, he backed away. His spot was directly under Linda's feet or in the house. Until Daniel came outside.

I really think he remembered Daniel's smell or something. As soon as that little boy started toddling around, Pirate started following him. Daniel played in the dogs' water dish, and instead of hiding, Pirate sat there and watched him. We got Daniel a bunch of ice cubes to play with, and he and Pie sat on the porch for half an hour and just played with the ice. Daniel would feed a cube to Pirate, and the dog would actually take it from him. It was amazing how that dog remembered that this little boy used to be his baby.

History Lesson

Hope tripped while walking to the bathroom Sunday while we were camping. Her knees were pretty skinned up and one was bleeding quite a bit. She isn't the bravest of souls and was milking her injury for all it was worth. We were in the motorhome putting a bandaid on her knee, and instead of really sympathizing with her, I said, "Ya know, Uncle Ron got shot with a gun. Maybe you should ask him if that hurt worse than scraping your knee."

Ron and Cindy had come for the afternoon, hence my comment about him getting shot. As we got out of the motorhome, I asked her if she wanted to ask him about it. She said she wanted to know, but wanted me to ask. So when we got over to their campsite, I said, "Uncle Ron, Hope wants you to tell her about getting shot." Perhaps I should've been more clear: she wanted to know if it hurt. But with Ron, you never get one-word answers.

He told her all about it, more than I've ever heard:
-who all was in the boat
-he was supposed to be delivering the boat and then leaving the country for a week of R&R- obviously that didn't happen
-he was driving the boat
-he initially didn't realize he'd been more than grazed
-he was hurt worse than anyone else in the boat
-it took almost three hours after he was shot before he was even evacuated
-it took a couple more hours to get to the hospital
-he nearly bled to death before he got into surgery
-it was almost a week before anyone here knew

He never did really answer her 'did it hurt' question. It was typical Ron story-telling, and this morning Hope asked me if he really got shot; she didn't even know whether or not to believe him. But I hope, years from now, when she learns about VietNam in history class, she'll remember that hour, and that what he told her will make the war a little more real and a little more personal. I wish history classes could be taught by people who helped make the history.