SKOSH THE WONDER DOG

Francis and Skosh in Ash Avenue backyard.

    At age twelve I was lucky enough to snag a Daily Herald paper route right next to my school, BY Junior High. It was so convenient. I could leave school, pick up my papers a couple of blocks away at the Daily Herald Office, do my route, and be home in time to enjoy the rest of the day. Even better, I earned enough money to feel independent. I could buy my own clothes, and not be surprised by nerdy fashion items like the combat boots Mom had found on sale.

       Each day while pumping my bike around the paper route, I would stop at a particular apartment to help comfort a young puppy named Skosh. You see, Skosh had a bulky cast on her back leg from being struck by a car. As the months went by her leg healed and she began following me on my route. One morning while loading up for school, there she was, sitting on our front porch. I returned her to her owner, but each time she was let loose she bolted and ran the two miles to my house.

    Returning Skosh after each escape was a painful experience. It was sad to watch the young couple's disappointment. It was obvious Skosh wanted to be with me. It broke my heart to watch Skosh being led into their apartment against her will. I'm sure it had nothing to do with her owner being a mailman! For the next few weeks Skosh was chained to a clothesline and couldn't follow me. I would try to ignore her whining and whimpering when I rode by.

    One night our doorbell rang and there stood the mailman and Skosh. He asked my Dad and me if we would like to have Skosh for keeps. He and his wife had talked it over and decided that since she was expecting a baby soon maybe Skosh should be my dog. I waited until he had left, then scream, "YES!"

Our family at Bear Lake: Kay, Mom holding Karalee, Paul, Skosh, Francis, Russ and Joel.

    Skosh was like a member of the family. Even Mom bought into the idea. She went everywhere we went, even swimming in Bear Lake when we were on vacation. She became so protective of me that she would bear her teeth and growl when Dad was sent to dish out some well-deserved punishment!

Francis and Skosh.

    She was a great friend to me over the next few years, especially when I broke my arm playing baseball. It seems she knew what it was like to have a broken limb with a bulky cast.

YOU'LL SHOOT YOUR EYE OUT or DAISY RED RIDER CHRISTMAS

 

        The movie "A Christmas Story" has always had a special place in my heart. Every boy growing

The movie, "A Christmas Story"- it's a family classic.

up can hardly wait for his first BB gun. It’s a rite of passage. But, we all faced the same obstacle. Mothers. “You’ll shoot your eye out!” I had just turned ten, and my father had finally prevailed.

        Very early Christmas morning, before any of the rest of the family was awake, I left my bedroom in stealth mode. I crept quietly up the basement steps, through the kitchen and into the living room to examine what booty Santa had left. No wrapped presents at our house. There in the soft glow of the Christmas lights on my assigned chair, right next to the stuffed stocking, lay a long thin box. Yes! It could only be one thing. Printed on the side was a magnificent picture of a Daisy Red Rider Lever-action BB gun. It had finally happened. I could hardly contain my joy. I'd be the envy of every kid in the neighborhood.

Ralphie trying out his new Daisy Red Rider.

       Hefting the box I made a shocking discovery. It was empty. What the heck! Was this some kind of sick joke? I frantically searched the room, in the closets, behind the curtains and under the couch, but no BB gun. With lingering questions and fading hope I headed back to bed.

        By sunrise the house was alive with the sounds of happy kids and parents enjoying the surprises of Christmas morning. “How do you like the present Santa brought you?” questioned Dad. “Oh, you mean the empty box?” I groaned. “Oh, it’s real alright and it's magnificent,” he chuckled. Dad left the room and returned with the real thing, the Daisy Red Rider. Together we read the instructions and danger warnings. Then, after swearing blood oaths, “cross you heart and hope to die,” and any other promises my parents could swear me to, the Daisy Red Rider was finally really mine.

Official Daisy Red Rider Lever-action BB gun

        The wood stock felt comfortable in my arms as I cradled it, lined up a shot and gently pulled the trigger. Wow! This is a beauty, I thought. Shooting at targets and stationary tin cans was fun, however I soon lost interest. After all, I was born to be a Backwoods Hunter, killer of wild animals just like my hero, Davy Crockett.

 

        Roaming the nearby hills, tracking down lizards and squirrels proved disappointing. They wouldn't sit still long enough to get off a good shot. It was in Stewart Grow’s orchard that I finally found my wild pray. Birds. They could be spotted flitting through the branches of the fruit trees. If I stalked quietly I might get close enough to squeeze off a winning shot. Sure enough, after several near misses, my BB found its mark. A small bird tumbled from branch to branch, finally coming to rest at the base of a peach tree. Hurrying over to examine my trophy I couldn’t wait. There in the grass lay a small beautiful bird. My shot had hit it, but it was still alive. Wounded mortally, peeping weakly, it was suffering a slow death. What I saw broke my heart. With tears in my eyes, I took careful aim and put the struggling little bird out of its misery. The great Hunter of Wild Beasts had lost all interest in killing.

My 93-year-old dad, R Max Rogers, with his new Daisy Red Rider BB gun.
My mom, Florence, has given in and is trying to be supportive.

        Fifty years later the roles were reversed. Again over the protests of my mom, I bought my 93 year old dad a Daisy Red Rider BB gun for his birthday. He needed it to scare away the neighborhood cats that were using his vegetable grow box as a community outhouse. We brought out the old targets and tin cans, then shot off a few rounds for old times sake. Dad's gone now, but I still have the Daisy Red Rider and a load of great memories.

KIDS AND CRITTERS GO TOGETHER

    Pets and kids just seem to go together. What parent can say no to little eyes looking up longingly. My Mother put her foot down when it came to dogs and cats which left little choice. I turned to the rodent population.

    One day while exploring the outskirts of the Brimhall Building on the BYU Campus, my eye caught sight of a white streak darting among the bushes. After stalking it for some time I caught and identified it - a white mouse. I didn't realize it, but the mouse was an escapee, probably injected with who knows what by scientific researchers.

        I named the little guy Henry and kept him in a gallon glass jar on the dirt floor portion of our basement. The bottom of the jar was covered with sawdust and cardboard scraps from which Henry constructed an elaborate summer home. He ate commercial pet food and drank from the tip of a water container made for small animals. It was fun trucking through the neighborhood with my small white friend hiding out in my shirt pocket. The boys loved him while the girls would usually run away screaming. Before moving up to a larger rodent, I found Henry a loving master who could keep him in the same luxurious lifestyle to which he had become accustomed.

    Next it was a chipmunk I bought from Howard Andersen who trapped them in the wild. That purchase set me back $.75. Dad covered the top of an old blue trunk with chicken wire, providing it a comfy home. I named him Wilford after our grumpy next door neighbor. Wilford was the hit of the neighborhood. Dozens of kids would visit our garage where Wilford hung out. Before picking him up, they were required to glove up. You see, Wilford had a bad habit of sinking his choppers into unsuspecting admirers.

    A rat dog named Tippy from across the street followed its young master for a chipmunk visit. Unfortunately the rat dog had other ideas about Wilford. In his wicked imagination he envisioned a tasty chipmunk snack, which came to pass only a few days later when the garage door was left open. Bye, bye Wilford. I’ll see you in Pet Heaven!

    Next came two beautiful white rabbits. With Dad’s help we built a Rabbit Duplex in our backyard. I would let them run loose to explore their surroundings and enjoy a little R&R. My younger brothers enjoyed these pets, but they were mine, and my responsibility.  I fed them rabbit pellets. However, rabbit pellets soon became a big expense.

    To cut down on costs I supplemented their diet with fresh alfalfa I picked from a vacant lot nearby. I even went dumpster diving at Carson’s market bringing home a supply of carrots and lettuce that had been thrown out. Yup! I had big plans, putting them together from time to time in hopes of becoming a pet rabbit entrepreneur. It never happened. It seems my fluffy bunnies were two of a kind and not a matched pair.