Blackie

Life itself. A memoir. by Roger Ebert. 2011. P.67

Blackie lived in our backyard, and for a blessed summer we were a dog and his boy, running all over the neighborhood—for dogs and boys ran free in those days. He went to baseball games with me, and chased after my bike to Harry Rusk’s market, and we went to the park. He knew all my friends. Blackie had an active circle of his own friends, including his brother Pepper, who lived next door at Karen Weaver’s house and his pal Snookers a dachshund who lived one door down on Maple Street with Jackie Yates. Then autumn leaves began to fall. Soon it was winter, with early snow on the ground. I was back in school. Pepper and Snookers went to live inside. As a shelter, Blackie was given my old playhouse in the backyard, with a dog house inside and blankets on the floor. “He’ll grow his winter coat,” my dad said. But Blackie spent long days and nights cold and lonely, and I was acutely aware of this. Blackie would hear the sound of the school bus and start barking for me, and I would run out to the backyard to comfort him, for he would be sobbing. “I’m sorry, Blackie boy. I’m sorry.” My heart was breaking, but I couldn’t stay out there forever. When I went indoors and stood over the hot air register to thaw out, I felt torn up inside. I had betrayed him. But I could understand that my father had a point.