Shorty

I have written here before that I am not a dog lover and that I never have been.
My conduct toward the canines living with me would contradict the first part of that statement. Recent conversation with my mother would contradict the second part.
I was asking her about our childhood pet,  a blonde cocker spaniel named Shorty.
The first thing she said to me about him is,"you loved that dog. And he loved you." So there ya go. I was a dog lover from as early as anyone remembers. Contrary to my own beliefs and statements to the contrary.
There are no photos of Shorty that I can find. My middle sister and I discussed what we recollect him looking. Our memories are comparable.
He was a country dog. He stayed outside and had the run of the five acres we lived on. The only time I ever remember him coming inside was when it stormed. He hated thunder and lightening but wasn't scared of much else.
He certainly had no fear of the big caged dogs that lived next door. That was his undoing.
At some point, when I was seven or eight, he took on not one but several of the big boys and lost. The elderly couple next door tried to save him but without success.
I went with Daddy to get him at their house. He was pulled in out little wagon to the spot under the hill that became his final resting place.
I named he "Shorty" when he and I were young because it was the nickname an uncle had given me. I am short. My puppy was, too. But he had no idea that he was not as big as the other dogs living nearby. In his mind he was a big dog. These days he looms large in my memory.