I had a grand-aunt. I guess that's what I would call my grandmother's sister, although some might prefer the term great-aunt. When I was younger, I remember seeing her only once or twice. I don't even remember her name. But I do remember she had a little dog – a Chihuahua. I don't know the dog's name either, but it was tiny. The dog wasn't very playful but quietly obeyed every command from its master.
When the little doggie had to do its business, my grand-aunt put it on the toilet. She had trained the dog to go on the toilet. I had never seen a dog do this before or in fifty or more years since. It was curiously amusing. But I remember I worried that the tiny dog would fall through the seat. I can still picture it shaking as it tried to steady its pencil-thin legs on the plastic toilet seat. Sometimes, my grand-aunt would have to hold the dog still. Even though the little dog looked like a puppy to me, it was probably much older, which would explain its quivering and why it needed assistance.
At this same time, my older brother was a senior in college. In those days (the 1960s), people began to view college as a requirement for a good job. Previously, a high school education was acceptable for the average person unless they were gifted enough to pursue a career in law or medicine. But now, high school wasn't good enough if you wanted to get a decent job. As my astute cousin told our grandmother, "The high school graduate hangs on the back of the garbage truck as it makes its rounds. The college graduate drives the garbage truck."
Ever since he was a child, my brother loved dogs. So, when he returned home for winter break, he adopted a cute golden retriever puppy. He named him Russy. We loved playing with the new puppy and taking him outside in the snow. Russy enjoyed running and playing in the snow.
After spending a few weeks at home with the family, it was time for my brother to return to college. Of course, he took Russy with him. They lived with a few students in a small apartment off campus.
My grand-aunt also loved her little dog and was very proud of it. She thought her dog was an unusually intelligent canine. After all, it knew how to use the toilet. She took the dog with her everywhere. The dog was a purebred Chihuahua, and she often bragged about it. She thought it was the best dog in the world and made it a point to tell everyone about it. When explaining what a purebred was to my grandmother, who never owned a dog or had any interest in them, she said, "This dog wasn't born in the street."
My grandmother, who wasn't impressed and showed little patience for her braggadocious sister, proudly replied, "That's nothing. My grandson's dog goes to college!"
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