BLACKIE AND THE CHAMP
Daddy was a traveling salesman. He was one of the old school salesmen who
travelled by train. Some of my earliest memories were going to train tracks with
him. He carried a roll of newspaper and as the train approached, Daddy lit the
paper and waved it in the air. The train would stop and Daddy would board for his
sales trip. When I got older Daddy took me with him and we rode in the engine,
the mail car, boxcars. Occasionally we got to ride in a passenger car.
Daddy was usually gone for a week at a time with occasional longer trips. When I
was eight, Daddy came home from a particularly long trip. It was cold and Daddy
had on a long overcoat. He greeted Mother, my sister, and brother. For a
moment, I felt that empty pain in the pit of my stomach because daddy ignored
me. After a few minutes, he called me over to his chair. He still had his overcoat
on. I stood there for a moment with tears in my eyes, then daddy, with a big smile
very carefully and tenderly reached in his pocket and withdrew a black and tan
puppy. The puppy was so small that it was lost in Daddy’s big old hand. He
handed the puppy to me and said, “What do you want to name him?” Instantly I
said, “Blackie”.
Daddy smiled again. He called my brother over, reached in his pocket, and came
out with a tiny white puppy. “What do you want to call him”, he said. My little
brother thought for a moment and said, “Snowball”. Now since this isn’t
Snowball’s story I’ll not mention him again.
I started to walk away while cuddling Blackie and Daddy said, “Where are you
going, get back here”. I stopped, turned back, and Daddy again reached in his
pocket and brought out a little kitten. The kitten was large for its age, yet still little
and was colored in various shades of black, grey, and brown. In spite of his tiny
size, he had very prominent cheeks.“Name him”, Daddy said. I said, “Champion”.
Now please don’t feel sorry for my sister, she was Daddy’s favorite and already
had a cat.
Daddy helped me prepare a cardboard box for Blackie and Champion. He did the
same for Snowball, but remember this isn’t Snowball’s story. From the very
beginning, Blackie and Champion bonded. They were more like brothers than a
cat and a dog. As Champion grew he often groomed Blackie who simply
delighted in it. They loved to wrestle and chase each other. They ate from the
same bowl. When it was cold, they curled up in a ball together. Both were
relegated to the great outdoors and forbidden to come in the house. When Daddy
was travelling, I would get up after Mother was asleep and slip them into my
bedroom to sleep with me. I got up before Mother in order to get them back
outside before she discovered. Only years later did Mother tell me that she had
known all along.
As Blackie, Champion, and I grew, we grew closer and closer. By the time I was
nine, wherever I went Blackie went and wherever Blackie went so went
Champion. They would follow me to school where they waited curled under my
classroom window until time to leave. Occasionally Champion would jump up in
the window that was closest to my desk and signal me. We needed to get out of
there, there were games to be played, at least that’s what I thought he said.
There were no leash laws in those days and dogs simply ran free. One afternoon
we heard tires squealing, a sharp cry, and a thump. I ran from the backyard here
I had been playing and there was my Blackie, lying in the street. The car had
stopped; the driver was out kneeling over Blackie who was lying still. I knelt by
him and gently lifted his head. There was no movement or response. His
breathing was shallow and irregular. I started to cry feeling helpless. Mother was
at work and there was no way I could get Blackie to the Veterinarian. I was sure
he was going to die.
The lady who hit Blackie seemed as upset as I. In response to my distress, she
offered to take us to our Veterinarian. Our Vet, Dr. Bob Montgomery, was a good
friend of our family and I quickly agreed. We got Blackie to Dr. M who examined
him while I waited breathlessly. After a few minutes, Dr. M said that Blackie had
brain damage and might not survive, but he administered an I.V with some
antibiotics. I had called Mother as soon as we got to Dr. M’s office. She left work,
came and got us and we took Blackie home. Mother made a comfortable bed for
him and gently placed him in it. This time Mother made an exception and let me
keep him in my bedroom.
That evening, Champion started crying the most anguished meows a cat can
make. Mother said that I could bring him in to see Blackie. I brought that big old
cat in and he promptly jumped in the bed with Blackie and started to lick him. He
purred and rubbed against that poor dog just as if he knew what was wrong. For
two days, Blackie remained in a coma and Champion only left him long enough
to go outside and relieve himself.
On the third day, it was obvious that Blackie’s breathing was better, but he had
quite a lump on the top right side of his head. As I watched, it jumped up just
enough to be noticed. Every second or two the bump bounced. Then I noticed
that every time the bump bounced, Blackie clinched his jaws in rhythm. We never
knew why, but the clinching and bouncing continued throughout his life.
Later that afternoon, Blackie started purposeful movements and then he opened
his eyes and after a bit of struggle, he stood up. Champion had been there
almost the entire time. Champion’s purr, as Blackie started to respond, was so
loud it sounded like a growl and he rubbed his body over Blackie’s legs as if he
were celebrating the return of his dear friend.
Blackie was never the same after that. He was still the sweet dog that he had
always been, but instead of being active and playful, he was somewhat lethargic
and shy. Sometimes he would just check out, stand there, and look at you with
hollow eyes and that funny bump bouncing on the top of his head. I could call
him or whistle and he would come out of his trace. This is when Champion
became “The Champ”. He knew that Blackie was not all right and so he became
Blackie’s caregiver and defender. The Champ almost never let Blackie out of his
sight.
There were several dogs in the neighborhood, a couple of which had shown
aggression to Blackie. Before the accident, he handled himself quite well, never
being intimidated or fearful. After the accident, however, he was passive tucking
his tail and whining when one of bullies came around. That’s when the Champ
showed his true mettle. He would quickly impose himself between Blackie and
the offender; swell himself up to twice his size with fur standing erect. Then he
would start to spit and growl, he stood stiff legged with his tail straight up in the
air. If the assailant wasn’t smart enough to take the hint after a couple of
moments of this display, The Champ would make a sudden lunge and bat the
offender across the nose. The Champ weighed twenty-five pounds and had front
paws with six toes, each carrying sharp claws. His blow was devastating and he
sent many dogs running for home with badly lacerated noses.
One especially dumb boxer simply kept up his harassment after The Champ had
delivered his punch. In a flash, that cat was on the boxer’s back, biting his ears
and clawing his shoulders for all he was worth. He rode that poor dog for a good
half a block before dismounting and strolling home as if nothing had happened.
Then he walked up to Blackie and started purring and rubbing himself against
Blackie’s legs, comforting his dear friend. The Boxer never returned. (Many years
later we learned that The Champ was a Maine-Coon cat which explained a great
deal about his fighting ability).
Occasionally I would attempt to discipline Blackie and The Champ would quickly
get between us and give me a look that said, “Go ahead and try to get through
me, buster”. It was always that way. The Champ would let no one get to Blackie
with an intention of harm.
One day, Blackie sneaked into the house with the Champ right behind him. When
Mother saw them, she took the broom to them both and ran them out of the
kitchen door. From that day on, The Champ hated Mother. If he could sneak in
the house, he would seek out the clean clothes Mother had placed on the bed.
Then The Champ would climb right into the middle of them and inundate them
with his nasty smelling cat pee. He only peed on clean clothes, never just the
bed. If he was in a particularly bad mood, he deposited something more solid and
stinky. After leaving his gift to Mother, he would make a beeline for back door,
which opened out and slip through it before Mother could catch him.
Late one afternoon Mother was standing at the kitchen sink preparing dinner.
Daddy had gotten home early and we were sitting at the kitchen table while he
entertained us. I heard the front screen door softly shut. It opened inward and we
generally kept the latch on. If the latch was not on, The Champ seemed to know.
He would slip through and slink into the house with one thing on his mind. Mother
was going to get it. I knew there was trouble brewing, but I couldn’t imagine just
how much. I should have gotten up, caught The Champ, and put him out, but I
was too enthralled with Daddy’s story.
All of a sudden, Mother let out a blood-curdling scream and started dancing from
one foot to the other. Daddy jumped up from the table-asking Mother what was
wrong. After a moment of utter hysteria Mother said, “That damn cat peed on
me.’’ It was true, The Champ, not finding clean clothes had quietly come in the
kitchen, and like a ninja warrior with great stealth backed up to Mother and
thoroughly sprayed her ankles. He then hit the back door on the fly.
Well, we all broke out in laughter, even Daddy. Mother headed off to her
bedroom to get Daddy’s pistol. We weren’t sure just who she was going to shoot,
but it was quite clear that if she had her way, blood would be shed. Thankfully,
Daddy intervened and The Champ lived for another adventure. I’m sure that day
cost him one of his nine lives.
Blackie and The Champ lived eight more years and then one day, as cats often
do, he simply didn’t come home. Blackie moped and would sometimes visit their
old haunts and whine a pathetic whine. Several months after The Champ
disappeared, I got home from school, and Blackie was laying in the front yard. I
think he simply lay down and died.
Some fifty years later, I still miss those two special animals. I’ve had other
animals since then, but none ever were as special as Blackie and The Champ.
Occasionally I dream of them and wake up with a feeling of loss. I confess to
being Wesleyan in my Theology and John Wesley wrote in his diary that he
believed his horse would be in heaven to greet him when he arrived, so why not
Blackie and The Champ?
The Champ had larger Jowls and Blackie had shorter ears, but with those
modification this might be them.