My Collie Sputnik by Thomas E Sawyer

But I digress. Along with making babies – parents were searching for additional ways to provide the Utopian childhood for their offspring. Pets were a perfect stimulus for growing children, it was determined. They were “spot on” with this idea. A pet could teach responsibility, provide a modicum of protection ( not cats or birds, mostly just dogs) and give a child something to love not human.

My Dad first chose a German Shepard but alas, said dog knocked down 3 year old Terri and was quickly dispatched to another family. I think the next choice was our Mom’s. She chose a beautiful Collie with a darker mane than Lassie. We were fortunate that my parents were best friends with a Veterinarian and his family. In fact, they lived only a few houses down from us and they were making babies along the same rate and timing as our parents. So our animal Doctor presented my parents with a dog, already named “Sputnik”. It was then and is still today the coolest name for a dog I have ever heard. Sputnik never knocked my sister down and was remarkably tolerant of all of kids. The gentlest, sweetest and most loyal dog I had or will ever have. He was as much a part of our family as I was – certainly less trouble.

I will also tell you that Sputnik saved my bacon on more than one occasion. No human or any other dog could get near me without Sputnik’s approval. He was a full size Collie and had an intimidating bark and growl when he sensed danger. As a side note – Sputnik was so named because he was born on October 4, 1957; the same day the Russians launched the first artificial satellite in history. It strikes me as odd now, that as much as Americans distrusted the Russians – that whoever named this beautiful Collie, would choose a Russian name. Of course, the Cuban missile crisis was a few years away, but the nuclear bomb paranoia was real. I can still tell you which houses in our old neighborhood had bomb shelters built during this era of the Cold War.

But at 6 years old – I was blissfully ignorant and simply loved my dog and my life. My siblings may disagree ( as they should), but I was Sputnik’s favorite. He was my shadow when I was outside (Sputnik was not allowed in the house; I think he preferred it that way). Walking or riding my bicycle, Sputnik would follow me.

Sputnik was a “chaser”. Cars, I mean. Although in the Spring he would disappear for a day or two and come back awfully listless and tired. But he seemed to be smiling. I knew Sputnik inside out and I will swear to you that he smiled for me!

One day in the fall ( I remember I was playing in a pile of leaves), Sputnik was chasing cars that drove down our road, Spruce Street.

I did not see it, but I heard a thump and Sputnik whelped loudly. The car did not stop – the bastard had committed a “hit and run” and I was scared to my bone marrow that Sputnik was dead. He lay in the street for what seemed forever and then managed to get up and limp his way back to the safety of his yard, our yard. I was screaming for Mom to come help and she did.

After my Mom called our Vet friend – we were told not to touch or go near Sputnik, fearing he might turn vicious and bite us. I knew better. Sputnik had gone to his favorite spot near the side of the house where our chimney was. I had no fear when I sat down beside him and rubbed his head. His big brown eyes looked at me like he was saying ” I’m sorry Tommy – I screwed up” I had stopped crying because I could tell he was breathing and the dog Doctor was on his way.

We learned later that night Sputnik had suffered a compound fracture of his right leg. I was told his leg was broken – I could understand that. And he was going to be okay. Whew! That was a close one. Amazingly, Sputnik would get hit by cars another two or three times and eventually his leg had to have a metal pin surgically implanted. He limped the rest of his life, but never gave up chasing cars. My parents and grandparents were all perplexed by his car chasing behavior but I accepted Sputnik with unconditional love, and after he survived that first injury – I believed Sputnik to be invincible.

When I was a little older I was allowed to venture in to the woods near our house and, of course, Sputnik would be with me. On one such excursion in to this magical forest – Sputnik started growling at something in front of us. I did not see anything so I thought it might be a wooded creature like a groundhog or skunk. To my utter dismay and surprise – a man sat up from his prone position under the leaves and started to get up. This man did not look like any man I was used to seeing. He was dirty, unshaven, and his hair was all messed up. He did not say anything but I noticed he was watching Sputnik very closely as he stood up. And he had an unusual looking bottle in his hand. By unusual, I mean it was not a coca cola bottle or a milk bottle.

Can you believe my parents were not convinced when I told them how Sputnik had saved my life? I had a pretty good imagination as a kid ( maybe I still do) and Mom and Dad had experienced hyperbole from me before this event. My story was validated a few days later, however, when police arrested a transient in the same woods and the story was printed in our newspaper. It was explained to me that there are “hobos” in this world who do not work and travel by hiding on railroad cars. And that Sputnik had, indeed, probably scared one of said hobos out of our beloved forest. I proclaim he saved my life. That is my story and I am sticking it to it.