When I was a child, between the ages of 10 to 17, my father felt we needed a dog to watch the house, to protect the family, in case. He went out and bought us (he thought) a pretty black tiny, two hands full, little mixed German Shepard puppy. When later checking, the mother was 1/4 boxer and the father 1/2 wolf. As our 'sweet little puppy' grew, this turned out to be an interesting mix, indeed!

He immediately built this cute little puppy a nice dog house, complete with covered porch, yep, he did. 10 sheets of 3/4 plywood and 4x4 corner braces and 2/4 braces and studs. Dang thing was big enough for me, my brother, and the puppy to sleep in comfortably! Really nice. Cost $45 in 1966, if that gives you any idea. Now, this is a subject on which I have many funny, interesting and endearing stories.

Everybody in the area soon knew this dog, and, of course, me.

Well, keeping to this story, you shall learn how this wonderful animal got his name. My father, as the man of the house, of course, named him 'Blacky'. This nom de pleur was indeed not to last!

As life does things happen. My mother was never one who cared much for animals in the house. Not that it hadn't happened. Her brother, Bobby, had several pet raccoon's. Any way, 'Blacky' stayed outside in his new doghouse, crying all the way.

But, as I said, things happen. A hurricane hit, and did not wear itself out before reaching as far inland as us. The wind snagged the eaves of the so-well-made doghouse, lifted it up, out and over the street a good 100 feet beyond our backyard fence, and promptly dropped it into the street, right side up!

He never entered the house again! No, my brother and I kept him in our room, housebroke and fed him until almost a year old, when he started preferring to be outside under our front porch, where he kept his due diligence. And did he! We also changed his name to 'Storm', and it stuck! Katt
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26-30
Sep 30, 2015