GROUNDHOG DAY MEMORIES

Today is the day we at least give lip service to Marmota monax (less so if you are a reveal cake acolyte supporting PETA).  Groundhog Day always brings back memories of my constant childhood companion, Polly.  Her full name was Polly Sweetiepie Puppydog House, so named by my older sister when she was three.  Big, black, and shaggy, Polly was half Newfoundland and half Saint Bernard.  To cool off during the summer, she would go into the woods and wallow in a steam and come back slathered in mud.  More than once, when she emerged from the woods, people would report seeing a bear.

Polly lived up to the first half of her middle name -- she was a sweetiepie.  Gentle and protective of us kids.  Mt father was a big, strong man, and once he determined that one of us kids (don't know who; certainly it couldn't have been me, who would do no wrong) deserved a spanking.  He had gotten no further than raising his arm when Polly grabbed it with her mouth and stopped him.  He said he could not fell her teeth but he also could not move his arm -- the dog's grip was that strong.  That was most likely the only time my father was tempted to spank one of us.  He learned his lesson from Polly...don't mess with her beloved kids.

Although Polly was fearless, she was also gentle and loving.  The only thing she was afraid of was thunder.  Early summer evening thunderstorms were the worse.  She would run up the land by our house, back and forth in a panic, trying to get away from the thunder.  No dog ever moved so fast, and no efforts to comfort her would work.  Once, when were being babysat by Minnie Brown, an elderly neighbor, Polly in her panic charged through the porch screen door into the kitchen, trying to escape the dreaded thunder.  Minnie has the unfortunate luck to be standing by the screen door as Polly burst in and ran between her legs, taking Minnie on a bareback ride through half the length of the kitchen.  I don't think Minnie ever forgave us for our laughter, nor for the fact that we were more concerned about Polly than her.

What has all this to do with groundhogs?  We live on a farm.  It was a small community and groundhogs were the considered enemy of many of the farmers -- although we called them woodchucks.  Polly hated woodchucks, probably just a little less than she hated thunder.  Four or five times each summer we would go outside an find woodchuck parts scattered all across our lawn.  Polly would never attack other animals, not even rats.  Just woodchucks.  A number of the neighboring farmers wished they had a dog like Polly, who was worth her weight in gold in woodchucks.

One fourth of July, I was with Bobby Johnstone, and older boy in the neighborhood, when we came upon the body of a woodchuck.  Because it was the Fourth of July and because Bobby was Bobby, he put a firecracker in the dead animal's mouth and lit it, blowing the woodchuck's jaw off.  I thought that was a terribly cruel thing to do, although I never had such thoughts about the woodchuck body parts that were regularly strewn over our lawn.  Go figure.

We had Polly for a dozen years or so.  A state highway ran along one side of our house and a speeding car clipped Polly.  She went around to the front of the house and crawled under the porch.  Her injuries were so bad that she had to be put down.  I have never forgiven that unnamed speeder who took our dog from us and then just kept on.

Polly was the last dog my parents had.  When I was married, Kitty and I have several dogs, some of whom became very special...McGillicuddy, the snaggle-toothed Pekinese who kept trying to get Kitty's blanket, thinking she never knew...and Declan, a black lab mix, so gentle with the kids and who let anyone who came to the door know that this house was protected.  But there never was another Polly.

And so I think of Polly every Groundhog Day...and during every summer thunderstorm,.