Zeke began to believe he could whip any animal that walked on four legs.  One by

one, Zeke beat all the tough dogs that lived on our road.  It was not until Zeke

spanked a big, mean collie that we McDonald brothers crowned him "King Of the

Road."  This new title was also the new title of a hit record sung by the late Roger

Miller.

 

The Taylors lived beside our church, McDonald Baptist, and owned a collie that could

have been the star of the movie "Lassie Come Home."  One Sunday after church, my

cousin Emily McDonald (RHS ' 64) and I were walking the church graveyard reading

relatives' (departed and still living) tombstones.  Suddenly,as quickly and deadly as

the Grim Reaper himself, the collie from Hell appeared from nowhere with fangs

exposed.  Emily was about a foot taller than me with legs up past my shoulders.  At

that particular moment in time, I discovered that a girl really could run faster than

me.  Emily sprinted past me and never looked back.  As I ran past and over dead

cousins, may God bless their souls, I made a strategic mistake.  Instead of running full

steam ahead down a cemetery walkway aisle, I made a forty-five degree turn to the

right with the back door of the church in sight.  Trying to show my respect, I

overextended my stride as I tried not to step on Mr. Willard. I tripped over his

footstone (it could have been his feet; he wore about a size fourteen shoe) and started

stumbling.  That collie caught me about the time I hit the ground.  He shook my left

ankle like a bowl of Jell-O.  I kicked him in the head with my right shoe just hard

enough to stun him and allow me to stand and sprint away with Jack Cooper (RHS '

66) 100 yard dash speed.

 

I went home with an imprint of the upper and lower dentures of that collie embedded

in my lower left leg.  After Daddy called Mr. Taylor, he was relieved to find out that the collie's vaccinations were current.  As a result, I was guaranteed to avoid twenty-one rabies shots to the stomach, one per day.  Daddy advised me that I had no business in the graveyard unless there was a death in the church family.  If that situation were to occur, then he would be there to keep me from getting bit again.  I did not need the warning.  I wore a permanent reminder on my lower left leg.

 

About a year later, I got a call from my preacher.  It seemed that the church mower

was broken and could not be repaired in time to cut the church lawn before the

following Sunday.  He offered me the job if I could use our family mower.  I accepted. 

"By the way," he added, "Make sure you cut the grass in the cemetery.  If you must

skip anything, skip the front lawn but not the cemetery."  I immediately had a

flashback of the collie attack as I assured the Reverend he could count on me to

follow his instructions.

 

By now, Zeke was a fifteen month old young dog and no longer a big puppy.  During

this fifteen month growth period, Zeke had gotten religion.  We only lived about three

tenths of a mile from church and every time we pulled out of our driveway in our

green ' 60 Plymouth to go to church, Zeke trailed behind.  Zeke then sat on the

church front porch and patiently stayed until the service ended.  Occasionally, Daddy

would let Zeke crawl into the backseat with my brothers, Gary and Ken, along with me when we left.  Yet, usually Zeke would trot along behind us on the way home.  Twice on Sunday, once on Wednesday night, and a couple of deacon meetings per month, Zeke faithfully went to church.  Reverend Dick Whitley, the pastor at McDonald Baptist, often said he only wished that most of our congregation were as faithful as Zeke.  On the other hand, our Chihuahua Brownie never went to church.  Like some of the church members, she would eat a big Sunday breakfast and go back to bed. However, as I pushed our lawnmower toward church on a Tuesday afternoon to cut grass for the Lord and for my billfold, both Zeke and Brownie trotted behind in my footsteps.

 

As you might have guessed upon our arrival, Mr. Taylor's collie had a repeat attack in

mind when I crossed that imaginary line where McDonald Baptist Church Cemetery

extends behind the Taylor home.  I knew I should have asked for a hazardous pay

bonus; I was about to relive my worst nightmare.  Suddenly, the ever-alert Brownie

aroused Zeke to battle with a warning bark.  To make a long story short, Zeke could

have introduced a sequel movie to dog lovers everywhere entitled "Lassie, Go Home"

a follow-up to the original "Lassie, Come Home."  I thought I would be digging

another grave for a dog in the cemetery as Zeke came to the rescue until the collie

broke loose and ran like a bank robber.  That particular incident in time laid the

foundation for Zeke as a warrior among my friends.  I could later say that collie had a

good memory.  From that day forward, I gave tours of the graveyard to all my friends

as that vicious collie stayed in his yard and barked but never once made an attempt to

step onto the cemetery grounds; he "had a good memory!"  I interpreted the butt

whipping as a fulfillment of Holy Scripture for the earlier assault on me of that demon

collie on the holy ground of McDonald Baptist Church Cemetery as paraphrased in

the Old Testament, "Revenge is mine saith the Lord."   Hallelujah, Praise the Lord!

 

 

To be continued ...