Kith & Kin

The other day I was trying to remember all the dogs I’ve ever owned. The first was Ella , short for “Cinderella,” a medium-sized black mix who barked incessantly. This was back in the era when a dog stayed outside, chained to her doghouse, and that was where she lived. No one thought of it as a cruel arrangement. But, as I s ay, she was a nonstop barker. In fact, one of the first phrases my little brother Eric learned to say—shouting at her from the kitchen window—was, “Ella! Be kawock!”   Which was his version of what he heard other family members shouting from the same location: “Ella! Be quiet!” We never bonded in any way (Ella and me, not Eric and me), and one day she was gone. This was also back in the era when you could call the dog catcher to remove your canine. Is that what happened to her? I don’t know, but I hope her next owner didn’t keep her chained to a doghouse. Our next dog was Missy . She was about the size of a chihuahua—no doubt she had some chihuahua blood mixe...

It was a dark and stormy night. Ding-dong! Cindy and I were immediately awake. I turned on the bedside lamp. “Was that the doorbell?” “Yes!” Cindy replied, her eyes wide open. “What time is it?” Cindy looked at her bedside clock. “Four o’clock!” “Four o’clock! Well, who—why. . . ? ” I got out of bed and stepped from the bedroom into the dark hallway. I looked through the nearly lightless living room toward the front door. Its window was small, probably ten inches by ten inches, a square resting on one corner. From my location in the hall, I could see that the front light was on. And I could see raindrops glinting as they passed through its glow. But I couldn’t see anyone on our front step. Tightening the muscles in my solar plexus, I crossed the living room to the door and looked directly out the window. No one. I cracked the door open, knowing that there was still at least a locked storm door between me and any boogerman. There was definitely no o...