The struggle of having working parents and three young kids is childcare. I think my parents sent us to stay with a sitter for some time, but I am fuzzy on who they were. All I know is that I didn’t get along very well out there. Anything I did seemed to warrant me “pulling a switch” off a tree for my punishment. I did accidentally flush a cotton diaper down the toilet when I was too busy playing to look beforehand. I learned quite quickly that the smaller branches hurt much worse than the big one.
Enter the new situation; have a 15 year old troubled boy move in to take care of us three girls-with his nasty Doberman pincher named “Sunday”. Sunday was very aggressive, and did not like other animals. My sister had a cat that she absolutely loved and had to now keep her locked in her room so Sunday didn’t eat her for lunch. I don’t know who left the door open, but Sunday got in and attacked the cat with such a vicious anger. My mom tried her hardest to get the cat away from the dog and eventually she did, but it was too late. That poor kitty was not the only casualty; my mom’s legs were so ripped up by the dog tearing the cat apart and the cat fighting for her life. It was a horrible episode, and we hated that dog. Sunday actually bit me twice; once when I came inside wearing my roller skates, and the other time I mearly walked in the door. Sunday finally got hers when she took on Chino in our backyard. It was absolutely horrible to see those two big dogs fighting, but my dad didn’t break them up until they were done. Chino had some bite wounds that needed a veterinarian to fix, but Sunday had too many wounds to fix and she was put down. Please understand that I absolutely love animals, and I felt sorry for Sunday as she obviously was abused, but she took away my sister’s cat, and bit me twice, so we didn’t shed a tear when she didn’t come home.
Sunday wasn’t the only creature that liked fighting, Mark did too. Mark used to start fights with the other local teenage boys, and he was very short-tempered with us. It all finally came to a head when the boy that Mark used to pick on came into our yard and started a physical fight. We screamed at my father, who was in the shower at the time, and watched the two “alpha males” go at it. There was blood all over their faces, and they just kept attacking each other. My father came out in his uniform and just watched them sort themselves out. My father decided it was better to let them fight it out while he was present, instead of breaking it up so they could continue it in a back alley.
It turns out that Mark had other attributes that were more damaging than his bloody dog or his aggressive nature; he loved to drink and bring other teenage boys over to the house. As you can imagine, us girls were not looked after in the way my parents thought we were…