Spotty nostalgia

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Sometimes, I like to look around at pictures of Dalmatians. Growing up we had a crazy Dalmatian named Belle who I am sure I have talked about on this blog before. From the above pictures some of my favourites are the top middle – Belle had a spot in the middle of her forehead as well, my father used to say that was where the bullet hole went. She was a terror and, even though I don’t have a dog of my own, I can now understand my parents frustration at having a dog so destructive she could chew through doors and my brother’s box spring mattress. Another favourite are the last two photos: Dalmatian with Kermit. I got a Kermit the Frog doll for Christmas one year, I was probably 4-years old (photographic evidence here). Kermit probably lasted all of a week before he was torn limb from limb. That was a common theme with Belle – if she wasn’t humping the stuffed animals she was massacring them. She tried to kill my precious E.T. doll too, however; I kept an unusually close eye on him for a small child (I was 5 when I got him) – but only after she managed to take one of his arms. Besides, I had grown up enough to learn that you could still love a stuffed animal that had been damaged (really, there was little choice with Belle around). There after he was known as Ampu-E.T. by the family and when the new War Amps tags would arrive in the mail each spring I would put them aside for him.

Still, they are beautiful dogs are they not? Just looking at images of them makes me happy and I want to reach out and pat their silk-purse ears.

I can’t ever see myself having another one.

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