Backbay Chronicles-Randy And Sandy “ RANDY AND SANDY “ BY PAULINE A. WHITE The first house up the Lane, when coming off of the highway, belonged to the Bowens’ clan. Five children lived there with their father, their mother having died at a very young age. These were good, strong and wholesome kids. Never any problem to their poor, overworked Dad. They took turns with the housework, the baby-sitting of the younger ones, and just generally had a good time with each other. I never saw many toys around their home, but they played with each other, joking and laughing riotously every day. My mother had known their Mom, and always spoke of her as a wonderful lady. She said that the girls, Olive and Carol, were exactly like her in demeanor and looks. They were both pretty girls, quiet and intelligent. Olive, the elder of the two, was always full of smiles. Carol was the teaser, joking and laughing her way through life. Materialistically, they may not have had much for show, but they were all happy, well bred children. They were some of my favorite cousins. Randy Bowens was the baby of the family; only four years old at the time of the Incident. He, too, was a quiet child. Not having anyone his own age to play with usually, all of the siblings were much older than he was. He had his dog, though. He had named him Sandy, like Little Orphan Annie’s pooch in the comic strips. Sandy was a full bred collie. Big, beautiful, and very protective of the little boy who loved him dearly. They were always together. At the dinner table, the dog lay at the child’s feet, waiting for a tidbit from the table to find its way into his mouth. At bedtime, he lay at the foot of the bed that the boy shared with his older brother. Even at bath time, the canine risked being wet by a playful older sibling in charge of scrubbing the little boy, just to be close to his young master. Although we girls were all about the same age, the two Bowen’s young ladies seemed to be older to me. They had so much responsibility on their shoulders, even then. But, they had a father who understood them well. They never had too much to do at anytime. This particular day, they were coming over to Jean’s house for the entire day. We had made sandwiches and a pitcher of Kool-Aid, with monies taken from our ample allowances. As Jean was the baby, and I was the only child, we were two spoiled kids. I guess that was why we were inseparable, back then. Everything was ready for our two guests, as we rode our bikes down the road to their house to get them. Except for church, we rarely had the chance to be together with Olive and Carol, in a social context. Except for making our beds, or, maybe washing the dinner dishes, Jean and I were on our own all day. We arrived home for food and drink when the need arose; and it was always there for us, at one house or the other. Olive and Carol cooked meals, washed clothing, polished furniture, and many other things that we had yet no idea of. On reflection, having married early in life, I wonder now who was the better off of the group, them or us. I could barely boil water on my wedding day. The girls were ready to go when we rode up into their yard. Their big, handsome father was there, in the yard with the boys. ( Every last one of the girl cousins had massive crushes on this poor man). They were going to tend their garden in back of the house. Randy was there, too, with his Sandy by his side. He was tearfully asking Olive, again, if he could go with her to Jean’s house. This baby boy had practically been raised, so far, by this mother-figure of a teenager. She loved him dearly, as well as the others, but there were times that she needed to be a girl; carefree and loose. Their father understood that well, and told Randy to stop bothering his big sister. Randy was in awe of this man who was his daddy, big and broad-shouldered, with the uniform of the County Sheriff’s deputy. He immediately fell silent, watching us ride away with tears in his eyes. Olive remained quiet for awhile, but our infectious clowning soon brought her out of her funk. We rode, raced, and showed off for each other and the trees around us. Halfway to Jean’s house, our grownup cousins, the Rayes, lived in a nice two-storied home. Their children were all adults, living in the city of Norfolk. They rarely came to see their parents anymore, calling irregularly at best. The Rayes had two dogs, that they treated like children. These dogs were both mongrels; vicious and evil through and through. The house was built standing on cinderblocks. In the summer months, both dogs would lie down in the shade, right under the front steps. You could not see them, but they could see and hear everything going on down at the roadside. There was a gate; old and rickety, held together by some wire. The dogs never barked at anyone coming by, but most people knew that they were there, somewhere, hiding in the cool darkness. We always avoided them, whenever possible. We got off of our bikes just before we reached the Rayes’ house every day and walked ourselves past their home, slowly. We did this now, all four of us. Watching from the side of our eyes, we went past. It was creepy to know that the dogs were watching us, too. Once past, we mounted our bicycles again, laughing at each other’s fear. Before we could get away, we heard the dogs-barking, loudly. Turning around, the sight in front of us was amazing. There was little Randy Bowens, riding the back of his dog, Sandy, smiling at us as if he had pulled off a great surprise. Well, he had done that, alright!! None of us could say a word. We were just dumbfounded that this baby had gotten this far alone, with just his dog. He must have been right behind us all of the way because he surely did not know his way around the Lane. We could almost count the times that he had been out of his yard, and then, always with someone along. We didn’t have much time to contemplate because the Rayes’ nasty animals began to run out from under their cool porch hideout, barreling down on the gate hard. They both hit it at the same instant, jumping up and down in their frenzy. Sandy was very agitated; with Randy upon his back he knew instinctively that there was no way for him to fight these two animals. He began to buck, lightly, until the baby climbed down. When the child moved to the side of his pet, the other dogs went wild. Hitting the gate with so much force, they managed to finally break it down and then all Hell broke loose. We were standing in the road, just stunned by it all until that moment. Olive broke away first, with her sister right behind her, and Jean and I bringing up the rear. Olive began screaming to Randy to get out of the way. The baby was so frightened, he just stood there mutely as the dogs came up on him and Sandy. They circled them, round and round, snarling deeply within their throats. We didn’t know what to do. Olive ran forward, towards her baby brother, and one of the dogs snapped hard at her. Jumping backwards, she looked around the road for a weapon of some sort. There was a ditch at the roadside, with debris sticking up out of it. Mud and slime caked the edges of it, but Olive waded in to retrieve an iron pipe lying on its side. Grasping it tightly, she climbed back up and started for the dogs threatening her brother. Poor baby; Randy had begun to cry softly, but held onto his dog’s hair, near his neck. Sandy wasn’t sure what to do. He could feel the fear in his little Master’s body and smell it on his sweating hand. Olive told the boy to stand very still; he obeyed her, as usual. He stared straight into his big sister’s eyes with his own large brown ones. Carol was crying and screaming at the dogs to back off, but, of course they ignored her. Jean was just standing, stiffly, like a statue while I kept moving back and forth, not knowing what to do. I have always been deftly afraid of dogs, except for Sandy, that is. At that moment, I was frantically out of it. My heart was racing madly against my frail chest, as if trying to come out of my body. Olive advanced on the two dogs, pipe in hand, and they both turned at her approach. Spittle was coming out of their mouths, flying north and south. She was the new enemy to them. Moving away from the baby and the collie, they started forward, low to the ground. Olive quietly told Randy to back up, and take Sandy with him until they were down the road by a big tree. The boy at first didn’t seem to hear her, then, she said it again, a little louder this time. His small hand jerked involuntarily, but he never let go of Sandy’s furry neck. Very slowly, he began to back off, one tiny step at a time. Sandy moved with him, as if he knew the plan in Olive’s mind. Carol came out of her coma, grabbing up a hand full of dirt from the road. It was mixed with gravel, and tar. I followed suit, then Jean. Armed and ready, we waited. Both dogs proved to be smarter than us, though. Although Olive was the immediate threat, they chose to turn as fast as lightning, and pounce on Sandy’s back!!! Randy screamed; a sound that follows me to this day. The child was so scared that he never let go of his dog. The two demons started to gouge and claw at Sandy’s back and neck, in unison, as if in some macabre dance scene. The baby was trying to pull his dog away, and in turn, Sandy was trying to fight and protect his little master as best he could. One of the dogs, the larger of the two, managed to climb onto Sandy’s back, and brought him down. Randy was still holding onto his neck, and he fell in the road, too. Now, the other one really began to chew in earnest on any part that he could reach. Entwined, somehow Randy ended up on the bottom, with all of the three dogs fighting and snarling above his fragile body. Olive gave a cry of pure agony, then just leaped into the fray, Carol close behind her. Jean and I tried to extricate the child, but he would not let go of his dog!! In his fright, Randy seemed to have obtained superhuman strength. Finally, together, Jean and I just grabbed the baby’s legs and pulled-hard. Once the child was free, I held on to him. He fought me like a little tiger, trying to get to Sandy, who was being mauled badly. Olive hit the first dog, then the second, on top of the head, with the pipe. It had little effect on them. They had tasted blood, and were going for the kill. Sandy fought as hard as he could, seeming to gain more strength once his little master was away from the brawling. I could see open wounds, large and gaping, around his neck and thighs. One hole in his left side was bleeding profusely. Carol had come around to get Randy from us; cradling him in her arms, trying vainly to turn his head away from the fight. That little boy bit his sister!! He bit her hard, on the hand, and ran forward. Before anyone could stop him, he was on top of the biggest of the two dogs. His small hands were flailing, then he was punching it in the head with tiny fists and fury beyond his years. Tears streamed down his beautiful face, and cries of nonsense came from his mouth as he fought. Then, the weirdest thing happened. Sandy, eyes full of blood and hair, seemed to know that Randy was there with him; fighting by his side. To this day, I still cannot understand how that poor, beat up, bitten up collie found the strength to continue the fight. Sandy began a funny sounding growl deep, way back in his throat. Then with one swift movement, he leaped up, with the first dog attached to his back, and turned around in a furious motion, attacking the other dog. His teeth sank deeply into the right flank, blood spouting everywhere. Little Randy was drenched with it, but he seemed to realize that it was not his own dog’s blood, but the other. Hollering, ‘get ‘im Sandy, get ‘im, boy!! ‘ at the top of his lungs, he pummeled harder on the closest dog’s head until his hands fell down from sheer exhaustion. Faint, he tried to hold onto anything within his reach, but did not succeed. Olive grabbed him just before he fell to the ground. A car came up the road, slowing at the Rayes’ yard front. It was them, coming home from a day trip to Norfolk. Assessing the situation at once, they both ran over and gave commands to their dogs. Both canines, tired and hurt, fumbled backwards, tumbling over each other as their teeth let go of the various parts of the collie’s body that they were clenched to. Kneeling in the dirt road, they looked the worst for wear. Sandy lay down on his side, breathing hard. With every breath, blood oozed out of his poor side. His breathing was faint and erratic, but he was alive. Still alive. The Rayes took the two battered dogs into their yard, then came back to see about Sandy and Randy. The first one was barely making it, but he tried to pick his head up at the sound of his master’s voice. Randy was scratched and bitten, but he didn’t seem to notice any of it in his regard for his pet. The adults must have called my cousins’ father, because right about then, he came barreling down the road in his car. Taking in the scene, with all of that blood, I can’t imagine what he thought at first. All of us looked lost and forlorn, there by the roadside. Of course, the first thing that he did when exiting his car was to run over to his baby boy, who was bloody and scarred. Randy’s clothing was torn, almost in tatters from the teeth of all three dogs. Scratches were on both of his arms and legs, but he , miraculously, was alright it seemed. Olive appeared frazzled and poor Carol just went to the car and got inside, sitting in the front seat with her eyes closed. I could still feel my heart beating at double-time, but there was nothing else wrong with me. Needless to say, our afternoon ‘tea’ was called off that day. There were other days ahead of us, with plenty of laughter and fun for four female cousins who grew apart with time and distance. Now, as a middle-aged woman, with grown children of my own, I look back at that day and wonder how Sandy managed t survive it. Because, survive he did, living on to a ripe old age in dog years. By the time that Randy was in his teens, the dog Sandy could barely see or hear anymore. But, the young man was always loyal to him, and vice-versa. THE END
Copyright © 2002 Pauline A White |