As I see it, there is this one relationship in the life of many men that compares to no other. It is not primarily physical, nor is it spiritual in the sense that we use that word. But emotional? While men tend to hide their emotions all too often, we see them unabashedly eager to display affection for their dogs. There is this indescribable bond between a man and his dog. Not that women can’t love a dog. But it’s different, somehow. Some dogs are made up of characteristics that endear them to women, and I don’t necessarily mean poodles and lap dogs. Our basset hound, Missy, was for quite a while the most beloved pet of our three daughters, and by far the best friend the MOTH (Man Of The House) had during those years. I am still amazed by that dog and her influence on our household. As much as I detested her constant need of a bath and her general tendency to disrupt any calm that might occur, I must admit that she was a positive influence in our lives. But she was not my best friend.
I thought of all this recently when Rick Bragg’s new memoir came out. “The Speckled Beauty” is, as described in the sub-title, the story of “… A Dog and His People.” Fans of this author have come to love him and his family, through their good times and those times that weren’t so good. “All Over but the Shoutin’” introduced us to him and his family through his memories of growing up dirt-poor in the pines of Alabama, heart-wrenching, true tales of hardships and tangled relationships. The book was dedicated “To My Momma and My Brothers.” It would be the first of three such memoirs focusing on grandparents, parents, siblings, and uncles and aunts, including an Aunt Juanita. And occasionally a dog or two. Rick’s chosen profession, before and during publication of his books, was reporter/journalist. His way with words has endeared him to many of us. He often writes in dialect, and in the so-called cookbook, “The Best Cook in the World,” I could hear his mother’s voice, and her Southern pronunciation, which sounded just like my own, and my mother’s. He has captured the language of the South for all of posterity, and in this story of Speck, he puts into print a new language spoken by the dog.
Book publishers and movie makers have long been aware of the public’s desire for dog stories. I’ve always wondered how film makers could manage to make dogs perform in movies and TV. From earlier movies like “My Dog Skip” and “The Incredible Journey,” and “Lassie Come Home,” we’ve seen a continuation of tear-jerking movies. More recently, the book “The Art of Racing in the Rain” was so successful, it was made into a movie. My favorite (until now) has been Terry Kay’s “To Dance with the White Dog,” which was made into a Hallmark movie.
Growing up in the sticks in North Georgia, I knew that most folks had a yard dog, although there was no dog in our household. My grandmother had suffered a dog bite in childhood, and had angry scars to prove it. I somehow made it to adulthood without a pet dog. When my husband and I purchased our first house, it seemed only natural that we get a dog. A bird-hunting friend was seeking a home for one of his hound dogs that was gun shy, and we lucked up. Timing is the explanation of why my memories of this are fresh. Our third daughter was days old, and we had friends and relatives dropping by to see the new baby. They were greeted warmly, but allowed a very short visit with the baby as they were ushered (by the MOTH) through the house to the back porch where the gun-shy bird dog was caring for her 12 new puppies.
Mark Twain didn’t know Rick Bragg, but his words apply. “If you pick up a starving dog and make him prosperous, he will not bite you. This is the difference between a dog and a man.” Kipling warns us about the depth of our feelings in “The Power of the Dog.” “Brothers and sisters, I bid you beware of giving your heart to a dog to tear.”
Rick bares his soul to his readers in this story. He relates his many physical ailments and his sadness as family members die. He cherishes the presence of his mother, and of Speck, both aging, both frail. The two of them had made peace with each other as they aged. Tennessee Williams never knew them, but he could have, saying, “It is a terrible thing for an old woman to outlive her dogs.”
The fly-leaf of the book calls it a “warmhearted and hilarious story of how Rick Bragg’s life was transformed by his love for a poorly behaved half-blind stray dog.” “Warmhearted” translates to forgiveness for his latest escapade that caused mass destruction and a trip to the vet. “Hilarious” translates to the humor that identifies Rick Bragg as its creator. Simply put, he just makes us laugh. We need that now, more than ever.
Juanita Hughes is the City Historian of Woodstock and a regular columnist for the Cherokee Tribune. This column was originally published in the Cherokee Tribune and Ledger News.
