She was and always will be the greatest gift Dad ever brought home to me. Whee-Zee became my loyal best friend, my protector and constant companion. Boxers have a reputation for being good around children, and Whee-Zee was no exception. My brother Carl and I could do whatever we wanted to her and she would take it all without complaint. If you put your finger in her ear or in the folds of her jowls, she didn't growl or snip-she'd slap that big wet tongue in your face. She would growl when you'd try and get the stick or ball she retrieved for you, but it was a playful sound, not uttered in anger.
Like all good dogs who've been in the family for years, she had become more than just a pet. She wasn't an animal we kept, she was an important member of the family; another kid in the brood.
Whee-Zee often had a mind of her own. Dogs weren't tied up in yards or put on leashes back then, at least I don't remember it that way. Most animals stayed on their own property, but every now and then Wheez would take it upon herself to do a little exploring on her own. She must have gotten scent of something good every once in a while, and she just had to find out what it was. She would be gone and we couldn't find her, and we'd be full of worry, and then the phone would ring. It was usually the Deptford police telling us they had her and would we be so kind as to come and pick her up. Dogs had collars and tags and were easy to identify, and the police took it all in stride and with a measure of understanding. Whee-Zee would be scolded, but of course to no avail, and if the mood struck her she'd be off on her own again, in search of who knows what.
We'd get phone calls from Mr. Kinkle down by the lake as well. Whee-Zee liked to swim, and hey-there's this big 'ol lake down the street, so it was only natural for her to want to head on down and take a dip. Thing is, dogs weren't allowed and her face was kinda scary, so she'd cause a commotion down there on the beach.
"Mrs. Maddox," Mr. Kinkle would begin, "Could you come down and get your dog, please? She's scaring all the children."
Wheez just wanted to be sociable and take a swim with everybody, but they all took a dim view of this, so Mom would have to trudge down to the lake and bring her back, scolding her all the way.
Whee-Zee was a person, and she liked to do what people like to do. Ice cream, for instance. Whee-Zee loved ice cream, and she developed a rapport with one of the soft serve guys who came around in the summer. This was before Mr. Softee. This truck had a Polar bear on it. I never did remember the name of the company, to us it was always the Polar Bear man. Anyway, the Polar Bear man liked Whee-Zee, so he always gave her a small vanilla cone each time he came our way. If he wasn't quick enough, she'd climb up into the truck looking for it. She always got her own cone when we went out for frozen custard as well, gobbling it up from the floor of the car.
The couch was her favorite place to catch a nap, but only when we weren't home. Mom did not allow dogs up on the furniture, but whenever we would go out for the day and she was left inside, we could always hear that familiar thump of her hitting the floor as she quickly jumped off the sofa before we came through the kitchen door.
Beer was another guilty pleasure of hers. Our yard was the site of many a family cookout, especially the Fourth of July, and a keg or two of beer was always placed under the old maple tree. Whee-Zee would position herself near the spot on the ground beneath the tap, licking up whatever was missed. I don't think she ever got too drunk from it, but there was one time when she seemed a little unsteady on her legs. Usually my parents would shoo her away before she could drink too much.
Whee-Zee used to like to lay in the middle of Walnut Avenue sometimes. I guess it was because the street was cool on a warm day. There was lots of shade, and that must have been the nicest spot for her. Many a motorist who turned the corner off of Egg Harbor Road was greeted by the sight of a scary-looking brown lump in the middle of the street. Mom would have to come out and drag her into the yard, swatting her behind and lecturing her on the dangers of lying about in the road.
She usually always listened to me, but there were some days that she just didn't want me to go off to school, and she would follow me all the way to Glassboro Road. I would stop and yell and push her back, and maybe swat her on the rump, and finally she'd reluctantly turn back, giving me that oh so sad expression that Boxers are so good at. Most of the time she'd go home, but some days she'd be sitting there at the school, waiting to walk me home.
She ate everything-dog food, people food-you name it she ate it. I know, it was now my job to feed her. Except pickles. She couldn't or wouldn't eat pickles. You'd put one in her mouth, and she'd give you this puzzled look, and then it would come sliding out to the ground. No, no pickles for Whee-Zee.
As I've said, Wheez was my armor and my shield. She would protect me and my family from danger. Once, a man was prowling around our house early in the morning, say 2 AM. I think Dad had gotten home about an hour or so before that and had let Whee-Zee outside. This poor guy didn't know our dog was lurking in the yard, but he soon found out. Whee-Zee snarled and growled and showed her teeth and pinned this guy to the side of the house, and kept him there until my parents came out to investigate. The man was petrified and gave some lame excuse that he was lost and was going to ask for directions, and quickly apologized and went on his way. Whatever he was doing, he would never do it in our yard again.
Mrs. Olsen accused my brother and our neighbor Paul Avis of running though her flower beds one day. They were out in the sand pile when she confronted them. She was yelling and accusing; they had ruined her flowers-there were footprints all over the beds, and she knew it was them. They were denying it and yelling back. Whee-Zee was nearby and getting closer to all the commotion. Mom was coming out of the house to see what was going on. I could sense that something bad could really happen any minute; that Sophie Olsen may get out of control. Well, she began to raise her hand to my brother and Paul, and as she did, I could see the hairs on Whee-Zee's back begin to stand on end. A low growl began to come up from deep within her, and a snarl formed on her lips. We all seemed to freeze, and Sophie's hand hung in the air. Mom and I began to say the same thing.
"Sophie, I think you'd better put your hand down slowly and right now."
The growl coming from Whee-Zee had stopped her cold, and the warning from me and Mom took effect, and Sophie slowly, ever so slowly put her hand down and gingerly walked back to her yard, mumbling something to herself. Sophie would never threaten one of us like that again. It was close, it was something we didn't want to see, but like I said, Whee-Zee was our armor, she was our shield.
She would let us tease her, she let us put plastic flowers on her head at Easter. She let Susie Avis eat from her bowl at supper time.
She was scary-looking, but to me she was beautiful. My constant companion, my sleep-mate at nap time, my loyal friend and protector. She was indeed the greatest dog in the world.
She was getting older now, in this year of 1961, a little slower, a little grayer.
Still time girl.
Still time for us to run.
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