by Ralph Roggenbuck
During the 1950’s out on the semi-arid wastelands of NW North
Dakota different customs prevailed. Everyone knew almost
everyone for 10 to 15 miles in any direction, their children by
name and sometimes even their dog by name. Helping each other
was a given.
The rural life and the small towns that were the supporting
structure all intermingled. The transitions from one to the
other were sometimes vague. Needless to say “leash laws” were
totally unheard of. If a “stray” or even a “home” dog became a
problem either rurally or in the towns; one “bang” usually
solved the situation. “Good-Bye Fido!” Dogs that behaved were
even welcome all over the towns.
Many dogs had the total free run of their town. As we lived
between (“Bug Junction” & “Hooterville” they may as well have
been named that) actually Carpio & Donnybrook. We were at least
fairly acquainted with both.
The bar owner in Donnybrook had a very large black dog, named
“Blackie”. Anytime Ted was around the town, Blackie was with
him. Blackie was one of those loves everybody dogs that
gravitate to kids and anyone who likes animals. He had never
caused a problem other that walking through traffic; huge
problem for the one block downtown. Here traffic was usually
slower than a kid on a bike anyway; so no harm was ever done.
Blackie was the unofficial “mayor” he greeted everyone. He spent
most of his days patrolling on the main street. He also went to
the schoolyard during noon and recesses. If one of the churches
was having summer or Saturday religion classes he attended the
breaks there also.
Blackie had something that most other dogs just never get. He
had a charge account! The grocery store had opened a charge
account for him. This was one of the older buildings with the
door actually opening to 2 different streets, as it was on the
corner of the block
Blackie would stand by the door and accompany someone in. I
remember the first time I ever saw him in the store; I already
knew him from the religion classes. He was sitting beside the
little counter that had the cash register on it with a can of
dog food in his mouth.
He just sat there patiently with the can in his mouth. He had a
very wide dull brownish grey collar that stuck past the buckle
and drooped down about 4 inches to add a fashion accent to his
appearance; if the can wasn’t enough.
He was waiting for the owner, Mr. Ribb, to see him. Mr. Ribb
finished with my dad. Then he turned and said, ”Alright
Blackie!” Blackie wagged his tail and stood up. He followed the
next person out.
My dad had sort of hung back. I guess to ask the store owner
what that was about. Mr. Ribb explained the situation. Blackie
had his own charge account. The deal was that Blackie could only
get one can a day.
The store people had moved the particular brand (at that time
they probably only carried about 3 or 4 kinds of dog food) all
over. This was just to see if Blackie could find it. It had been
on high shelves, low shelves, stacked in a floor pile in the
corner, and even behind the counter. He always found it.
Blackie had never tried for 2 cans in one day either! He always
waited until he was told by the clerk that he could go besides!
This is an actual event that seems totally unbelievable in our
current society! Most of the readers won’t really believe it, I
guarantee it to be true. My mind can still picture him sitting
there. I can not remember the brand or color of the can though.
Fifty plus years seemed to have erased that detail I do remember
that sitting down he was as tall as I was standing.
I do get to relive some of the pleasant things by remembering
and writing about them. I also get to remember some things I
never want to relive! The age of kerosene lanterns, frozen water
glasses by the bed, wood stoves that were always hungry, and
having to wear full clothes to bed because it was so cold, can
happily stay in the past!
