Tuesday, March 12, 2019
When I was small my father often brought home stray dogs. One of his duties as the town marshall was to capture all stray dogs. He was supposed to kill them but he could not bring himself to do it. If he made sure the dog was not a danger he would bring it home. It would become a new member of our family.
With each dog my father brought home we would be asked to name it. There were five of us at the time. We named each and every dog Suzie. No matter if it was big or small, no matter what kind of dog, and no matter if it was male or female. For some reason we had a lot of Suzies.
My youngest brother at that time loved all of them. He was not much more than a baby. The dogs loved him back and would let him climb all over them and stick his little fingers in their mouths or almost any place. They never complained because he was a baby.
One Suzie was a smallish mutt. She was a dark (maybe black) color.
One day while Suzie was eating my little brother snuck up behind her to scare her. He jumped on her back and yelled.
Suzie was not expecting him. She did what animals instinctively do... she turned quickly and bit my brother.
The bite was in his face. In fact Suzie's teeth caught right on one side of his mouth. There was a lot of blood.
Mom saw that the wounds would have to be cared for by a doctor. His upper lip had a huge gash and the lower lip had a slightly smaller tear.
There was actually a doctor in our little town which was unusual. His office was half a block from our house. He had been a doctor for many years so he was an older man.
Mom carried my brother to the doctor's office and they were seen right away.
The doctor said that the wounds were serious. Normally animal bites are not stitched but these needed to be. The doctor said his hands were no longer steady enough to do the job and he referred Mom to another doctor. Of course that doctor was in another town.
My parents took my brother to the new doctor who stitched the wounds. He said that as the years passed my brother would probably have to have plastic surgery because the scarring would cause puckering affecting my brother's appearance as well as his ability to eat and speak well.
Poor Suzie felt terrible. She babied my brother more than we did. Of course we kept her.
My brother was so fortunate. He never had to have surgery. His lips grew normally. He has scars. They are hardly noticeable.
Suzie is a good name for a dog but that was the last Suzie we owned.