The Ryans lived around the Old Road, father and son, both called William, in a small but well kept house that they faithfully repainted every few years. They had both fishermen all their lives and while Young William didn't remember his mother, there was evidence of her everywhere - lace curtains at the windows and the soft touches she had brought with her the day she arrived from Prince Edward Island during the time when some marriages were still arranged. Marjorie had died shortly after Young William had been born and Old William had never remarried. He had given his name to a stranger, he told Nana, but he'd lost his heart to his wife.
The day my mother struck our old dog with her car, the Ryans were passing. It wasn't much of an impact but Fritz yelped then began to howl. Both the Ryans dropped lunchpails and slickers and raced up the front path, arriving as my grandmother came out the back door, apron flying, Lady at her heels. You know he's a chaser! my grandmother was yelling, Why didn't you check to see where he was? My mother stood, car keys dangling from one helpless hand and crying while the Ryans knelt over Fritz. Take Lady inside, Nana told me firmly, Go now! And she gave me a healthy push towards the backdoor. I did as I was told but came right back, terrified that my beloved dog was dead and needing to be with him. I didn't think of my mother's carelessness but Nana was tending to that, snatching the keys away from her and ordering her inside with a rough shove and a disgusted look. Fritz had become quiet, laying on the gravel on his side while Old William ran his rough hands over him and Young William held his head, talking softly and stroking him. Back leg's broke, Missus, Old Walter told my grandmother, Gonna need a splint. He looked at me and smiled, his kind eyes were reassuring, He's gonna be fine, little one, fetch me some tape and some pieces of wood. He shed his jacket and cap and rolled up his shirt sleeves, gave Fritz's leg a sharp snap. In no time, my old dog's back leg was immobilized in a hand made splint and carefully taped. In a day or two, he had learned to walk, nose to the ground, hindquarters in the air, putting his weight on his front feet and the tip of the splint, one small leg dangling in the air. By fall he had recovered and the Ryans came to remove his splint. He favored the leg for a few days and Nana decided to keep him housebound but by Labor Day he was, as Young Walter said, fit to dance a reel.
No mention was made of the accident after that but my mother became much more careful about checking on the dogs before she drove away and Nana baked extra bread and pies all that summer, delivering them quietly to the Ryan's house when they weren't home.
The day my mother struck our old dog with her car, the Ryans were passing. It wasn't much of an impact but Fritz yelped then began to howl. Both the Ryans dropped lunchpails and slickers and raced up the front path, arriving as my grandmother came out the back door, apron flying, Lady at her heels. You know he's a chaser! my grandmother was yelling, Why didn't you check to see where he was? My mother stood, car keys dangling from one helpless hand and crying while the Ryans knelt over Fritz. Take Lady inside, Nana told me firmly, Go now! And she gave me a healthy push towards the backdoor. I did as I was told but came right back, terrified that my beloved dog was dead and needing to be with him. I didn't think of my mother's carelessness but Nana was tending to that, snatching the keys away from her and ordering her inside with a rough shove and a disgusted look. Fritz had become quiet, laying on the gravel on his side while Old William ran his rough hands over him and Young William held his head, talking softly and stroking him. Back leg's broke, Missus, Old Walter told my grandmother, Gonna need a splint. He looked at me and smiled, his kind eyes were reassuring, He's gonna be fine, little one, fetch me some tape and some pieces of wood. He shed his jacket and cap and rolled up his shirt sleeves, gave Fritz's leg a sharp snap. In no time, my old dog's back leg was immobilized in a hand made splint and carefully taped. In a day or two, he had learned to walk, nose to the ground, hindquarters in the air, putting his weight on his front feet and the tip of the splint, one small leg dangling in the air. By fall he had recovered and the Ryans came to remove his splint. He favored the leg for a few days and Nana decided to keep him housebound but by Labor Day he was, as Young Walter said, fit to dance a reel.
No mention was made of the accident after that but my mother became much more careful about checking on the dogs before she drove away and Nana baked extra bread and pies all that summer, delivering them quietly to the Ryan's house when they weren't home.
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