Peanuts. That was the name of a large, friendly dog given to us many years ago. Her size, shape and color did look like a peanut with her tan, brindled coat. Peanuts was a pleasant enough bull dog, as she often lay on the porch under a shade, panting and drooling and keeping her eye on activities in the street. Her only enemy and foe was motorcycles! She hated the pop-pop noise when the newspaper boy swooped down our street on his motorcycle, tossing the paper to our porch.
Peanuts was big and pregnant, carrying a litter of little bulldogs. That didn't stop her from rising clumsily, baring her teeth and letting out a ferocious roar, as she chased and barked after the fleeing paper boy.
One day, Peanuts got her prey, sinking her teeth into the back wheel of the motorcycle, causing the paper boy to have a shredded tire! The poor guy shot out like a bullet to avoid Peanuts. The next day I was surprised to see the newspaper carrying the heading, "Local Newsboy has a Doggone, Deflated Day By Bull Dog." I was mortified!
Reflecting on this fuzzy memory, I recalled a picture of our then 3-year-old son, Mark, grinning and firmly holding a bulldog puppy of her litter. I found the photo in an album, baby Julie on a pallet with the puppy between them. Our dog may have looked like a peanut, but I think she could grab a tiger by the tail!
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