Granddad and the Dog Food

Crossposted at Dailykos.com

Here is a family story that I hope that everyone finds amusing. It is true as well.

My Grandfather lived to be 91 years old, and that was quite a thing in 1968, when he finally died. I was 11, and adored him.

The funny thing was that he HATED kids, but he liked me. Perhaps it was the second childhood thing, or maybe we just connected. All of my relatives told me later that I was the only one that he ever liked.

I am pleased, because he introduced me to coffee and cigarettes. I still take both of them. Will they kill me? Who knows.

Granddad was born in England, in Birkenhead, just across the bay from Liverpool. I used to torment my Dad by saying that we might be related to John Lennon, since that was near. Dad did not like that much. Granddad was just little when he came here, but I have not a clue as to the date. He married GrandMum here, and insofar as I can tell, she was from Birkenhead as well. Small world.

So, around 1910, they came to live in Arkansas. Hard life, and Granddad mined his own coal field, by himself. He also farmed a few cattle, and so forth.

My earliest memories of him were as a very, very old man. I was only 11 when he died, so my memories are those of a boy. We used to sit on the front porch of the house in Hackett, AR, and watch cars go by. His words were, “They don’t care about us”, as the many vehicles passed. I believe that he was correct. Do you care about whom you pass in your car?

Well, if more folks want to know more about him, I can give more background about him. Suffice it this time for the story at hand.

When he way around 80, give or take, he fell ill and went to live with my aunt, his daughter, by the name of Hazel. He always called her “Suzie” for reasons that no one in the family could ever discover. I loved her, and she loved me. She was born in 1915 and died earlier that I had hoped, at 85. The things that I remember about her are her perfectly assembled house, not anything out of place. Her voice, deep and always well formed, much like Mrs. Translator’s, not screechy at all, just nice and resonate.

So Granddad went to live with her. He was not one would call a good tenant, but was OK. She came home one day from the hospital (she was a RN) and found Granddad very vexed.

When she asked him what was wrong, he decried the cereal that she had put out for him. He said, “Suzie, your kernels are tough! They are not fit for a dog to eat!”

Granddad called any cereal “kernels”, To make a long story short, Granddad mistook the box of human food for one of dog food. He put milk and sugar on the product shaken from a box of a major brand of dog food, instead of Wheaties. I think that I would think them to be tough, too.

There are more stories if anyone is interested. Warmest regards, Doc.

Tags: Cereal, Dog Food, Granddad, Kernals, Milk, Sugar