The air within our carport was hot, sticky and could be cut with a butter knife. But the smell was so overpowering that the summer heat was the least of your worries.
The familiar smell of a skunk floated through the carport as I attempted to draw on the concrete with a box of sidewalk chalk. The sun had already settled into the wood line of my grandparents’ home in Monticello, and I was given permission to play a little longer under the lighted carport until it was time for my nightly bath.
And judging by the floating smell of the skunk, I was sure I was going to need it.
Disgusted by the smell and aware of the time, I began to collect my chalk to make my way back into the house. But then a noise distracted me near the corner of the carport, close to my Maw Maw’s parked station wagon. Fearing it was the skunk making his way towards me, I prepared myself to run through the kitchen screen door.
But then the source of the noise made its appearance. It wasn’t a skunk but rather a mutt of a dog, peering behind the station wagon’s tire. The poor dog had obviously been sprayed by a skunk, and the smell was horrible. But his sweet face and timid nature made up for the terrible odor.
I made my way over to the dog, holding my nose, and I began to gently pat him on his head. He immediately took to it, and before you knew it, he was rubbing his stinky body all over my legs.
Hollering at my Maw Maw and Paw Paw to come outside, they made their way to the carport. The first thing Paw Paw commented on was the smell. And holding a dish rag, my Maw Maw began waving it around, yelling at me to get away from the dog.
“But he needs a home,” I begged, still rubbing his head. “He’s just a mutt.”
Maw Maw told me that he had to stay outside for a few days, but that if he stayed around, we could keep him. Throwing my clothes in the washing machine with some extra baking soda, she shoved me into the tub while Paw Paw attempted to bath the dog with a hose and some tomato juice. I don’t really know if the tomato juice works, but it was the go-to method in Lawrence County.
The awful smell went away after a few days, and I was excited to see that the small dog stayed around. About a week later, Maw Maw allowed the dog to come inside the house. The little pooch immediately jumped into my Paw Paw’s cushion chair that he used in his wheelchair. The brand name of the cushion seat was “Roho,” and so Roho became our new family pet.
Even though he was a mutt, he was my dog. And he stayed with me throughout my entire childhood, proving to be the best dog ever.
Roho would roll with me in the grass of our yard, and he would actually slide down a nearby hill with me into mud pits. He slept in my bed with me at night. He was my guest of honor at my tea parties. He even let me dress him in baby clothes and push him through the neighborhood in a baby carriage.
When I was spanked and upset, Roho would sit by me, licking my knees. He would eat the squash I hated under the supper table. And he always kept the neighbor’s mean Chow from coming into our yard while I played on my tire swing.
Time continued, and his dark hair slowly became gray around his face. His fast pace eventually developed into a slow stride. And he soon was unable to jump on top of my bed at night, but he would always stay on the floor right under my head.
He was my best friend, and he was the best dog a country tomboy like me could have asked for while growing up.
Cancer eventually took over Roho’s tired little body, and his final resting place was in the back yard under a magnolia tree that he and I would often camp under to escape the heat. The small grave would soon be covered with grass, and there was nothing left to serve as a physical reminder that he was there.
Many years later, I took my own family to my grandparents’ former house. It was empty, with a real estate sign in the yard for the next family to make memories inside of it. And as my own three kids ran around under the same carport I played in as a child, I slowly made my way over to the magnolia tree. That tree seemed a lot smaller than it appeared to me as a child. The grass was overgrown atop the small spot that I knew Roho was buried under, but I knew exactly where the spot was.
“Hey there, Roho,” I whispered, kicking the blades of grass. “You were a good boy.”
As we pulled away from the house, I looked in the rear-view mirror at his spot. I began to smile, thinking about the memories that precious mutt gave me as a child. He may not have had “papers,” but he had a heart and a loving spirit that proved more valuable than any piece of paper could have shown.
Pulling out of the driveway, I thought I detected a slight smell of a skunk nearby. Maybe it was all in my head. But I will never forget that night, when an awful smell turned out to be the sweetest discovery.
