The Dog Really Did Go to the Farm

When I was really little, my Dad had a Black Lab named Cricket.  She was fantastic.  She sat on command. 

Alright, that wasn’t the extent of her talents.  (Although it is almost the extent of my current puppy’s abilities.  Anyway,)  Dad was happy because Cricket was trained to go duck hunting with him and to come at the sound of a whistle.  Mom was thrilled that Cricket was cool and calm around us babies.  But Cricket was already old when she appeared in my first memories so it wasn’t long before she passed away.  

A few weeks later my parents came home with a new puppy.  We named this bundle of energy Daisy. 

Pretty quickly, my parents realized that Daisy was more energetic than Cricket.  Daisy didn’t particularly care for boring training items like sit and come.  Household rules were not her forte.  And my parents were already busy raising three little girls. 

So Daisy was left to her own devices.  She grew larger, stronger and happier.  She was so enthusiastic that she knocked my baby sister into a pool.  She would dig out from under the fence and go gallivanting around the neighborhood. 

My parents tried an electric fence.  But it wasn’t strong enough to hold her in – she would get a running start and head right through it.  Although she was smart enough to not come back in through the electric fence when it was time to return home.  Then they tried the electric fence around the permanent fence and Daisy would suffer through the prolonged pain while she dug the hole to escape.  Apparently she thought the wonderfulness that was the other side was worth the pain.

My mom would often comment that she could take Daisy for a three-mile run and it still wouldn’t put a dent in her energy level.

Eventually it became too much.  We came home one afternoon and realized that Daisy was not in her customary spot.  My mom informed me that Daisy had gone to a farm and that she was very happy.

Yep.  Daisy had gone to a farm.  Sure mom.  That’s what happened.  I was old enough to know that “going to the farm” is a euphemism for “she died.”   

But the story doesn’t end there.

Many, many years later I was idly wondering how Daisy died.  And my mom was shocked.  She couldn’t figure out why I thought Daisy had died.  Then she finally clued me in on a few missing pieces of information.  It turned out that Daisy really did go to a farm.  My parents found a farmer who had wide open spaces for Daisy to run to her heart’s content.  The farmer showed up at the house to pick her up, opened the truck door, and Daisy jumped right in and sat down on the passenger seat like she had always belonged there. 

Anyway, this story about Daisy came to mind when I saw an article today on “Dear Prudence” where a mother had lied to her son and told her that the dog died instead of telling him that they gave the dog back to the previous owners.  This story is proof that sometimes parents lie.  It just so happened that my parents were being completely honest.  The dog really did go to a farm.

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