I used to think that dogs - as hobos used to do - put a mark on our house so that future dogs would know that this was a house where you could get a handout, or better yet, get adopted. A dog named Blackie must have read the mark as applying to her because, although she had a good home at the other end of town, she seemed to prefer what we had to offer.

      Finally getting tired of telling her to "go home" or just returning her to her real home, we caved in and invited her to stay - with permission from her owners of course. The very first thing Blackie did was get herself pregnant, and soon thereafter presented us with 3 tiny black puppies.

      A short time after Blackie came to live with us, hubby came home with a puppy from a friends house. Skipper (renamed Skipper Dipper Dumb Dog) was a fat, no breed dog, white with black spots as big as the moon. She scared the daylights out of the driver of every car that turned the corner into our side street.

      She would warm her back by laying in the middle of the warm blacktop and arrange all 4 of her feet pointing to the sky. By some miracle the school bus driver made it a point of swerving to the side of the road even before he checked to see if Skipper was taking her nap there, which she usually was.

      Blackie even got called to the phone. My stepfather loved to hunt rabbits and took the dogs with him, more for company than any hunting. When the phone rang and we discovered it was John, Blackie was called to listen. We would put the phone to her ear and John would whistle.

      As soon as she discovered who it was, she made a dart for the door, which someone would open for her, and she was on her way. Skipper, being a tad slower, waited to see which direction Blackie was heading and then got herself going in the same direction. This procedure lasted for several years, Blackie leading the way and Skipper following.

      One evening Blackie failed to return home, and in the morning when we went looking for her we found her near the railroad tracks, although she had not been hit by the train, we always thought that someone shot her and that she was trying to get home.

      When we lost Blackie, Skipper forgot how to get to John's house to go hunting. We tried holding the phone to her ear but she only looked confused, as if waiting for Blackie to come and lead her.

      Over the years we have had many dogs, but Blackie and Skipper are the 2 we will never forget.