Pirate's Ship Comes In

Pirate diving

The Story of his Life

The first time I saw Pirate, for an instant I thought I was seeing Tulip. But Tulip was a small rough collie with sable. And Tulip was dead. This was a border collie, black and white and full of mischief. I saw him three days in a row, lurking up and down the street between the houses of our old neighborhood in Hyde Park. He was the new dog on the block, running in the streets at night, chasing cars and barking incessantly under our bedroom window. We’d seen a flash of white when Craig ran out to chase him off.

He was living with a retired man and his wife on the next block over. Our neighbor Katie’s yard across the street backed onto the old folks’ yard. Katie was 84, and she knew exactly what dog I was talking about. He belonged to Karen, the couple’s grown daughter. He was an expensive dog from a trainer, Katie said. He was supposed to be a sheepdog, but they sold him to Karen for a pet. Then Karen got divorced and had to leave the dog off with her parents. Who already had a pack of dogs led by a huge, mean German shepherd named Monnie, which Katie said was short for Monster.

Pirate The black and white dog pursued his traffic and woke us nightly with his savage yapping. I planted myself in the doorway and stood my ground with Craig, who wanted to barrel out into the street like a madman again. “You’re crazy!” I said. “That dog is making me crazy,” he snapped back. The next night he called the police, and they hauled up the old man. Craig, still furious, said yes, he wanted to press charges, file a complaint, anything.

The nightly raids stopped, and now the hellhound hurled himself against a short rope and a choke collar, teeth gnashing against the chainlink fence when Craig jogged by in the evenings.

“I hate that dog,” he said every day. The dog barked himself hoarse. Continue...