Queenie was a small dog. The man that she belonged to said she was a miniature German Shephard but I don't think he knew what he was talking about. And, I didn't know one dog from the next. I just knew that she was the pet for Michael and Shirley.
Time passed and Queenie gave birth to some puppies. We kept two, a fuzzy fur ball called Albert and a sleek little dude we named Smokey.
(Michael is holding Smokey, Shirley is holding Albert)
When it came time for the family to leave California we could only take one dog. There were two adults, a teenager and 3 younger children packed into that car already, along with suitcases and other paraphenalia. One dog could go. We chose Smokey, our son's puppy. Albert would have to be left behind. We moved from Concord, Ca. in 1964. and we still hear from our daughter about how we left Albert behind!! She was unhappy little girl.
(Michael playing with Smokey in my Mother's yard)
In 1969 Elbert retired and we moved to Alabama to a farm. Smokey never strayed from the house and he and Michael were the best of buddies.
(This picture was made in the late 1970s - just look at that face!)
One day we could not find Smokey. We looked everywhere, for days, no Smokey. A week passed, then two. One Sunday, when we returned home from church, there was Smokey. He never told us where he had been but neighbors about 2 or 3 miles away said they saw him limping homeward. Someone had taken him from our yard. As he tried to find his way home someone had shot him in the leg and he never walked on that leg again. He even had his own newspaper coverage telling about his big adventure and misadventure. (Click on article to make it large enough to read)
Eventually we had to have Smokey put to sleep. He was laid to rest atop the bluff where he and Michael had spent so many happy hours. He was about 12 years old.