MIDNIGHT THE DOG

Written by Luz Leigh June 2007

      When we were first married, sometimes I would go with Jack on one of his many trips to Port City in Houston. Well, it was probably NEAR Houston. This was the place where cattle were shipped from the dairies and ranches to market. I did not get to tag along as much as I would have liked because he usually made the trips on Sunday night and I had to be at work early Monday morning. 

      One night when we pulled into the alley to unload the cattle, he spied a little black puppy that was becoming a fixture around the place. I fell in love with the puppy (we had no children at the time, so I had time to indulge in spoiling a pet.) The guys who worked at the sale barn were more than happy to find a good home for the stray dog. As with most cowboys, those guys were ole softies when it came to a stray. When they had picked up some hamburgers for their supper that night, they had ordered an extra one for the dog. His little belly was as full as could be and he was so happy!

      After the cattle were duly unloaded, tagged and inventoried, we put the puppy in the seat of the truck between us and headed for home. We had only traveled a few miles when I realized the puppy and I had something in common. He was also prone to carsickness.

      When I realized he was about to give back the hamburger he had enjoyed for supper, I told Jack we would have to stop. Have you ever considered the inconvenience of stopping a truck and trailer in Houston traffic so a puppy can barf? Once it became apparent (which was almost immediately) the puppy couldn’t wait, I held the helpless, but very sick pup out the passenger window and let nature take its course.

      We finally were able to find a place to pull over without creating a traffic hazard. In order to avoid a second incident of carsickness, it was decided the puppy would be banished to the trailer. That was the only solution we could think of, short of abandonment. With the pup in the trailer, we headed up the interstate and home.

      Upon our arrival at home, in the wee hours of the morning, of course, Jack went to retrieve the puppy for me. The coal black puppy with the shiny coat that we had picked up was now grass-green, having become covered with fresh cow manure left by the Holstein dairy cows we had just delivered to Port City. I have never seen a more pitiful looking, awful smelling animal in my life. 

      The puppy got a bath; we got baths, then we all got a good night’s sleep. The puppy slept through the night. He was probably afraid to utter a sound for fear we would confine him to the manure pit again. We named him Midnight, or Blackie, or something of that nature. Jack would not let me call him some of the other suggestions I had.