East End Memories



This story is dedicated to Mrs. Jean Collen, her daughter Mrs Gaynor Paynter, and her family. Sheba, her daughter’s family dog, managed to escape from their back garden during a thunder storm and has not been seen since that time. Sheba is greatly missed by all those that knew her.

SHEBA - DOG and COMPANION now sadly lost

I was surprised when I was a student to learn that dog fossils were often found together with human remains. Apparently, a symbiotic relationship developed early on between dogs and man. Dogs most likely ran with humans during the hunt for food. This relationship continued and obviously developed and has grown into what it is now.

One quality which is often highly developed in dogs is loyalty. They can be trustworthy and loyal to a fault. A St. Bernard will go out in the worst of weather to search for a lost soul; Huskies are known to give up their lives to pull their loads including humans to safety; almost every day now, police dogs take on the most vicious villains armed with guns and knives without any thought for their own safety; and occasionally a dog will come along like Greyfriars Bobby who will spend the remainder of his life in mourning a beloved master. Now, how many people do you know who would do any of these tasks for you?


I don’t know if you have seen or even heard of the play and film Come Back Little Sheba. This was the film where the great Shirley Booth won the Academy Award for a Leading Actress. Shirley Booth is little known in the U.K., but was once renowned in the U.S. for her role as Hazel, the good hearted maid in the early 1960’s television series of the same name. Ms Booth had been a Broadway star at one time before making films. The film also starred Burt Lancaster as her husband who felt cheated into marrying his wife due to a pre-marital pregnancy. As a result of a miscarriage followed by complications, the couple could not have children. He took to drinking while she took to trying harder and harder to get him to love her. For a time, a truce was drawn between them thanks to the presence of a dog, Sheba. Unfortunately, Sheba ran off and the couple found themselves once more with nothing in common. The film picks up their story a number of years after the disappearance of Sheba and follows them through several crises.

Shirley Booth
Shirley Booth as Hazel

I mention this story since it illustrates a point: a dog can become an irreplaceable member of a family and help hold it together. I can understand that many people prefer to think of a dog merely as a valued animal to do a job of work. Even so, working dogs, such as sniffer dogs, guide dogs, military dogs etc still hold a special place in the heart of the one directly responsible for them. Dogs give so much and what do they ask for in return? – a little food, a warm place to sleep, a little kindness and an occasional walk. Now that isn’t too much to ask in return for all that they do, is it? Noted psychiatrists have said that no one can be depressed who owns a dog – or was it that no one could resist laughing following a lick in the face! I can’t recall what was said or for that matter by whom. Was it Freud or perhaps Peanuts who uttered this profound statement? Exactly whatever was said and by whom is not the point. What is important is the sentiment behind the statement, right?

Sigmund Freud

As I have said, my father loved dogs and dogs loved my father. While we lived over the pie ‘n’ mash shop, we had a number of different dogs. Each dog lived in the bake house and so spent most of their waking hours in my father’s company. He had a good relationship with every dog and every dog had a good relationship with him. Many dogs thought of my father as the greatest thing in their world. Many times, I have seen a dog go crazy when he came home late. Whether drunk or sober, in good mood or bad, the dog was overjoyed and ready to show him affection. I realize that my father was their primary caregiver and took them for walks and so on, but even at my young age, I could see that there was a real affection, each for the other. I have never met anyone who developed quite the same rapport with a dog as my father. That is, not until recently when I met someone here in the town where I live. This man and his dog are a joy to see, as they seem to almost talk through their remarkable understanding of each other.

My father was amusing in that he demonstrated absolutely no imagination when it came to naming his dogs. He never had any trouble finding a name. He never worried about whether the name expressed the dog’s personality. He solved the name problem by simply using the same name for all dogs – Fido! Whether large or small, gentle or spry, we never had a Rex or a Prince or a dog by any other name. They were all Fido, plain and simple! When my father was young, apparently this was common practice, just as it was to refer to strangers by the name John. I remember my father would ask a stranger for some information by saying excuse me John. I recall once that some man did not appreciate being referred to in this way and complained. My father apologized, but this man kept on complaining. After a minute or so of his moaning, my father stopped him by giving him a mouthful. I was present at the time and felt that my father had apologized enough too.

Whenever it was time to get a new dog, he would dress himself up and most often take off alone to the Club Row Dog Market. He said that getting a new dog was serious business and seemingly a wife and a child were just too much excess baggage to take along on such an important mission. On rare occasions, my father was known to buy a dog at that other great pre-E-bay emporium of the time – the local public house.

Of the many Fidos that we had while living at the pie ‘n’ mash shop, there were two, which stand out. Did I say stand out? This, to say the least, is an understatement! These dogs, although both with us for only a short space of time, were very special animals and gained a place in our hearts that was never dislodged. I can honestly say that throughout their lives, until they passed away, both of my parents mentioned these dogs at least once every month and perhaps more often. They had had such a profound effect on us.

The first special Fido was distinguished from all others as he grew by the name of Big Fido. I was very small when this wonderful dog came to live with us, but I remember him well. He was a mongrel, as were all the dogs that my father brought home. He came to us from the Club Row Dog Market as a starving puppy. We all took to him immediately. He was a very easy dog to train and seemed to want to cause us no trouble. My father was greatly taken with this dog. My mother loved this dog too as I did. He grew to be a relatively large dog and was basically white in colour with light brown ears and nose and with a relatively large light brown patch on the right side of his back. This dog had a wonderful personality and proved to be an excellent watch-dog both in the shop and of me. He was patient and tolerant of me and never ever nipped, bit or barked at me despite my childish way of playing with him. I would enjoy standing over him as if he were a pony and I, the rider. I was still small at the time and so most of my weight must have rest on his back. He never complained and put up with this annoyance unlike my parents who were none too pleased when I did this.

As I said, Big Fido was a wonderful watch-dog. My parents would close the doors of the shop each evening at 11.00 P.M. Rarely would my mother allow any further sales after this time. However, especially on a Friday evening, it would take an age to get all the customers out of the shop. Sometimes, there would be a huge singsong in the shop. There would always be a great crowd of customers that would arrive after 10.30 P.M., once the pubs chucked out, as closing time was called. Most of the customers would be merry from the drink. They had worked hard throughout the week and were ready to have some enjoyment. This meant drinking vast quantities of beer with a final short followed by a couple of my father’s delicious pies. A few stout-hearted customers with cast iron stomachs would also want a few pieces of eel to accompany their pies.

An Irish NavvyAt that time, there were many Irishmen in the area. They were navvies – workmen who dug the roads. These men were either single or without their wives and lived at the Salvation Army Hostel on Whitechapel Road. These men enjoyed a good relationship with my mother and were respectful to her. Her stepfather had been Irish and drank vast quantities of beer, but sadly he was extremely belligerent when drunk. My mother and grandmother spent long periods of time in hospital from the beatings that they received from him when he was intoxicated. Apparently he was a big and powerful man who was renowned for his ability to put, with ease, three or four policemen into the horse trough that was once present before the Salmon and Ball public house. It needs to be remembered that policemen were not small men in those days and generally took no messing when vexed.

Many of the Irishmen had beautiful singing voices. And since they were away from home and missing their loved ones, it was only natural that one of them would start to sing. By now, the drink had taken hold and a melancholy mood began to settle over them. Naturally, their longing for home could only be curbed by song. I would creep down the stairs from my bedroom and sit hidden from view and listen to the singing. The customers would sit and listen in silence to the singer and then join him in the chorus. I remember that some of the songs would make me cry. I was especially touched by I’ll take you home again Kathleen and When you and I were young, Maggie. I was not the only one reduced to tears by these wonderful songs. My mother would often weep, which endeared her even more to the clientele, as would some of the other more sensitive members of the audience. Occasionally, my mother would be coaxed into singing a song too and on rare occasions, since he was generally still busy in the bake house, my father would make an appearance and sing too. Everyone would receive a round of applause for their efforts and a great time would be had by all.

Although I enjoyed the solos, it was the group singing or glee club that I enjoyed most. Some nights the whole shop would be rocking with song. Some evenings, the singing would go on for so long that the local police, on their beat, would come in and ask the singers to break it up. In those days, the police enjoyed a good relationship with the locals, and they would most times leave, and not insist on escorting the customers out. Everyone would then eat up and file out of the shop in a peaceful manner.

Occasionally, there would be a disagreement between several customers. Although this was rare, when it did occur, it could be potentially unpleasant. Generally, my mother was very good at interceding and limiting these fights. My mother had been forced to box against her brothers as a child. Her stepfather would insist that the children of my grandmother’s first marriage – my mother and two brothers – battle each other and the winner would be given two slices of stale bread as a prize. Since these poor children received less food than his natural children, each child wanted to be the victor. Amazingly, my mother generally won. She was so good at fisticuffs that her stepfather took to tying one of her hands behind her so as to give her brothers a fighting chance. Naturally at that time, there were no such things as Child Services.

Should the disagreement in the shop become more intense, and neither my mother nor father was able to stop it, Big Fido would appear and settle the matter. On one occasion when it became obvious that no human was going to stop the confrontation that was about to explode, I saw Big Fido rise slowly from his place in the bake house and walk slowly but surely into the shop. Big Fido went up to the marauding duo and gave one bark. This was most often sufficient to freeze the combatants and cause them to think twice about continuing their disagreement. At this, my father would then tell Big Fido to sit, which he did, exactly where he was, and my father told the fellows to eat up and leave as soon as possible. Big Fido would sit where he was and wait to escort the combatants off the premises. Only once did I see Big Fido need to rise up on his hind legs in order to make his point. It wasn’t that the dog was huge, or looked especially mean, or had blood red eyes and buckets of saliva dripping from dangerous looking teeth that caused the battlers to stop and think before continuing further their argument for he had none of these intimidating features. Instead, Big Fido relied on his presence to persuade others of the folly of their ways. He never barked unless it was necessary. He never bit anyone, because he did not have to. His presence was sufficient. And so no one ever messed with Big Fido.

On such evenings, if I was lucky, I would be allowed to help my mother count up the coins in the till. My mother would always count the takings for the evening and I would prepare the float for the next day’s lunchtime service. While we did this, my father would finish cleaning up the bake house and prepare his pots and other utensils for the next day. Once these last jobs were completed, we would go for a walk. My father always took each of his dogs for a walk once the shop was closed and his work was done, no matter how late this was. Most dogs would become over excited at the mere mention of a walk. Big Fido was different to all of the other dogs. Although he loved to walk, he was our most controlled and sophisticated dog. He behaved with decorum and never leapt or jumped up at the sight of his leash, but waited calmly but expectantly by the door until my father was ready. My father would attach his leash and off they would set. It could have been a scene by Gainsborough.

Our walk generally followed the same route. Firstly, we walked up to the corner where Cambridge Heath Road met the Whitechapel Road. The public house, the Cambridge Arms, straddled the corner. By now, it was long since closed and all patrons had gone home. Despite the proximity of this pub, my father never frequented it often. He much preferred The White Hart, which was on the opposite side of Cambridge Heath Road and formed the corner of this road and where Whitechapel Road became the Mile End Road. My father and Big Fido would set off at a good pace, leaving my mother and me behind. Once they turned the corner onto the Whitechapel Road, they came to a wide area of pavement, which at that time of night, was empty of people. My father would remove the leash and Big Fido was now free to run, leap, jump and bound to his heart’s content. This open area was large and so Big Fido was able to develop a good lick as he raced against himself back and forth.

Whitechapel Tubne StationMy father would walk slowly across the open area so that Big Fido had plenty of time to exercise. Once we caught up, we would then continue walking along until we reached Whitechapel Underground Station. Big Fido was an amazingly intelligent dog and would always wait for my father’s direction before crossing a road. During this walk, there was only one small street to cross and he would wait patiently for my father before crossing. He would do the same during our return walk. By now Big Fido had enjoyed his run and would be content to remain alongside my father and return home. Once my father opened the door of the shop, Big Fido would race through the shop and into the bake house and bound up to his throne and go through his nightly ritual to find the perfect position for sleeping. I would arrive once this had been completed as I was allowed to wish him a good night and sleep tight. I would pat him and stroke him, but would not be allowed to stay too long as it was very late and I had to go to bed. While this was going on, my father would be filling his bowl with fresh water in case he should require a drink during the night. With that, lights were turned out, and Big Fido was left in charge of the shop and to ensure that no robbers got in should they even dare to try.

Big Fido remained with us for about two years, certainly not more. We were never quite sure how he came to be killed. He was run over one afternoon by a lorry, which did not stop. The fact that the driver did not stop really upset my parents. They found it hard to believe that the driver or anyone could knock down a dog and keep driving. The shop was open and the doors were wide open as they usually were during work hours. Big Fido had been trustworthy to walk around the shop as the mood took him as he was a great favourite with the customers. Naturally, this was long before animals were banned from restaurants for health reasons. Apparently, Big Fido had suddenly ran out of the shop and bounded off the pavement and started across the street. This was very unlike him. My mother believed that Big Fido must have mistaken someone on the other side of the road for my father and believed that he was being beckoned to join him. My father was out of the shop at the time and was taking a short break in The White Hart across the road.

My father always wore white when working. He wore a white shirt and white trousers and had a long white apron before him. When he went out, he would remove the apron and don a white coat. My mother believed that Big Fido saw someone similarly dressed to my father and, mistaking this person for my father, took off in excitement and anticipation. The result, as I have said, was disastrous. The traffic, except for the villain of this tale stopped, and a crowd quickly gathered. The commotion caused the pubs and shops to empty and soon my parents were outside once they realized what had happened.

I did not learn what happened next for a number of years. Apparently, my father brought Big Fido inside and my mother immediately closed the shop. My father arranged to have this precious dog buried in a customer’s garden who had been fond of him. This was arranged quickly and the internment was completed before I came home.

My parents and I, especially my father, were in a daze. I was very upset. My mother and I both cried for most of the day. However, I suspect that our sense of loss and pain did not compare to that felt by my father. He spent the day in the bake house and did not eat anything and did not even go out for a drink. He was that upset!


We did not get another dog for a while. My parents, especially my father, did not have the heart to do so. My father kept Big Fido’s bedding in place for a while, but eventually removed it and I suspect he did this as he was beginning to think about getting another dog. After all, one was needed to keep the cellar free of mice brought in with the bags of flour. I am certain that he never thought that he would find another dog to equal dear Big Fido. However it is amazing what life will bring especially when we least expect it and we were all very, very surprised at the wonderful little dog that next came to share our lives.

Li’le Fido, as she was known, was also an amazing dog. She was game. My father not only liked her, he admired her spirit. He said that she was the best mouser that we ever had. She was a small dog and could follow any mouse that dared to try to share the cellar wherever it chose to go. Due to his size, poor Big Fido had been unable to do this and could only chase them into hiding. However, do not think for a moment that he was not a good mouser, as he was. It was just that he was limited in not being able to crawl into small places.

Li’le Fido came to us as a puppy. Someone that my mother did not like came into the shop a few months after Big Fido had been killed and mentioned that his dog had just had a litter and asked if we wanted one of the puppies. This did not mean that the puppy would be free of charge, since he was not a generous man. As I said, my mother did not like this man. I am sure that she had her reasons since she was not one to give someone the cold shoulder or the look unless they deserved it. My father’s ears obviously pricked up at hearing this offer and a visit to see the pups was made for later that day. Obviously the visit went well, since when he returned he was accompanied by this tiny brown and white puppy.

Li’le Fido, as she was immediately named, could easily have been a relative of Big Fido in that her colouring was identical even down to the patch of light brown on her side. The only difference between the two dogs, beside their obvious difference in size, was that the patch of light brown was on the left side of her back.

Li’le Fido was a female pup. This was something that my father always tried to avoid. In those days, dogs were not generally neutered and female dogs forever risked having puppies. This meant the arduous task of finding homes for them. Tragically, it was not uncommon at that time to see bundles of kittens and puppies floating along in a canal. The more thoughtful would include a large stone or brick in the bag so that it would sink and speed the demise of the contents. Today, much is made of having dogs neutered and here in the US, the most famous of the daily game shows,The Price is Right always ends with the compere pleading with viewers to consider getting their pets speyed.

I am sure that my father fell victim to Li’le Fido’s eyes. They were of the deepest brown and very large. To add to her initial charm, she seemed to have a perpetual smile on her face. Although she turned out to be a friendly and loving dog to us all, naturally she took to my father more, as so many dogs had before her. I am certain upon their initial meeting, she chose him as much as he chose her. Once he arrived home with his new dog, he had already totally enamored of her charm. His talk was full of her attributes. When my mother asked about the other pups that he had seen, he dismissed the question with a quick curt comment that basically said that they were of no interest in the presence of this little lady.

Immediately Li’le Fido fit into our society. She never had an accident. She seemed to have been born house-trained. She was always good natured and eager to please not only my father, but also my mother and me. She was willing to play with me and, like Big Fido, she never gave me the feeling that I was being tolerated. She demonstrated her courage instantly once my father helped her down the steep steps to the cellar, whereupon she spotted a mouse and took off after it. Within a few days, puppy or not, she captured and killed her first mouse and proudly presented it to my father. He said that her tail wagged with such force from pride that he thought it would come off and be flung across the cellar.


As Li’le Fido grew, which wasn’t much in size, she quickly found that special place in all of our hearts. Although she reminded us so much of Big Fido, she did not replace him in our memory, but rather found her own place alongside his. She was a delight and great fun to be with. I would love to carry my father’s huge mug of tea from upstairs down to the bake house, mainly in order to enjoy her response. I would walk slowly down the long straight staircase that led to the shop, and as I did, I would call out to Li’le Fido. Soon I would see her waiting at the bottom of the stairs. She would be very excited with anticipation. Once I got to the bottom, she would jump in the air to see what I was carrying. I suspect that she hoped that it would be a treat for her. Although I say that she jumped in the air, she was no Jack Russell Terrier and did not exactly leave the ground. Her jump was more a raising up on her hind legs followed by a weak leap that would take her off the ground by about a quarter of an inch! This may not seem like an especially giant leap, but she was game and gave it her all. She would continue these leaps as I crossed the sales area to the bake house. As she grew, the intensity of her excitement increased and eventually it reached such a pitch that she became unable to control her urinary sphincter muscle and little drops of urine would escape her much to the annoyance of my parents. These would have to be cleaned up immediately and poor Li’le Fido would scamper off knowing full well that she was in disgrace. My father would tell her off and call her a silly cow or a silly mare! This always made me laugh and soon I, along with Li’le Fido would be in trouble! No one could be angry with her for long and soon she was out from her hiding place and all would be forgiven and forgotten. All it took was a glance from my father and the two would resume their relationship as if nothing had happened and they would be back in the good graces of each other.

Just like Big Fido, whenever there was the threat of trouble in the shop on a Friday or Saturday night, Li’le Fido would come into the shop to take note of the scene. While Big Fido had the necessary presence and authority to quiet and dissuade patrons from pursuing their disagreement further with one bark, Li’le Fido need several barks and an occasional nip at the ankles to achieve the same goal. No wild kicks from the marauding duo would frighten her. She was, after all as my father had described her, game. She had large teeth for such a small dog and I feel certain that she was able to inflict suitable pain to cause a person to stop and think about what he was doing. Li’le Fido never lost a battle and would enjoy the praise and thanks heaped on her once the defeated left the shop. Naturally, she enjoyed these accolades and behaved with suitable modesty and grace as befitting a true champion.

Walks with Li’le Fido were fun. Unlike Big Fido who would wait patiently to go for his walk, Li’le Fido could hardly contain herself. No one had to mention going for a walk to her. She quickly learned the routine of the shop and knew that once the doors closed and certain essential chores were done, it was time to walk. Hardly being able to contain her excitement, she would begin her ritual of preparation. This would start with a number of scampers from her throne in the bake house up to the front doors. She would leap with the grace of a young gazelle from her throne onto the bake house floor and then race herself out across the tiled floor of the sales area and then under the little gate that separated this from the open shop. She would then turn and race along the centre gangway of the shop and bump into the doors. Once she had collected herself, she would turn, attempt a leap into the air and then race back the way that she had come, cumulating in a magnificent and graceful leap up onto her throne. Here she would remain statuesque for a second or two and take in where we all were in our preparation to walk. If we were not ready, she would then repeat this circuit and do so again until she was finally called to attention by my father. Once she was called to heel, her leash would be placed, and as meek as a lamb, she would accompany him out into the shop area and through the doors and into the night.

To say that Li’le Fido enjoyed her walk would be an understatement and not to give full description of the pleasure that she obviously got. Although she did not pull on her leash, she would walk very fast and stop and turn to my father periodically, as if to say will you please hurry up and turn the corner so that I can go for a run! Naturally my father knew this and would speed up. Once they turned the corner, just as he had with Big Fido, he would remove the leash and Li’le Fido would take off and run the circuit which had been taken so many times in the past by Big Fido. She was full of energy and ran with amazing speed. My mother always believed that Li’le Fido was part greyhound! She was different to Big Fido in that she was tireless and always had to be called to be leashed. She would return, but her eyes would look sad, since she never seemed to have had enough exercise and would looked shocked that us weaklings and faint of heart wanted to move on. She would perk up once we began the walk up to the Underground Station.

I used to love to go alone with Li’le Fido for a walk. My parents allowed me to take her out occasionally as long as I did not cross a major road. I felt very grown-up at being allowed to do this. If truth be told, I suspect that Li’le Fido felt that she was in charge of me since I was very young. In fact, she did protect me and saved me from being attacked by a bully of a dog on one occasion. Old Bob was a dog who was often seen wandering around our neighbourhood and causing trouble. He did not appear to belong to anyone and relied on scraps of food that he found or on what he could steal. He was a relatively large dog with little obvious charm or features to recommend him. I suspect that he had been turned out and thanks to his natural guile had managed to survive. Sadly, his hard life had made him somewhat mean and people tended to avoid him when they saw him coming. I was not overly fond of him, I have to confess, and following an unpleasant interaction with him, I was given no reason to change my mind.

Bulldog PuppyThe interaction occurred one day while Li’le Fido and I were out walking. We had not gone far, when suddenly Old Bob came bounding towards us. Unfortunately, there was no shop or house nearby for us to seek shelter in. Naturally I was fearful that he would attack Li’le Fido and since she was much smaller than him, I was concerned that she would become seriously hurt. As quickly as I could, I managed to pick her up and hold her up as high as I could and out of range of the gnashing jaws of Old Bob. Old Bob came rushing up to us and jumped up to attack Li’le Fido, who was not whining or cowering, but barking back at her tormenter while wriggling between my hands. Since I found it hard to maintain her in my grip, she quickly shook herself free and leapt to the ground. Li’le Fido did not seem to realize that she was much smaller than Old Bob and showed no fear as she readied herself to face the bully. She now quickly positioned herself between him and me. She then began to snarl, splutter and bark at him. She was obviously defending me from the brutish animal. Old Bob seemed surprised that such a small dog was daring to challenge him and stopped short in his tracks. This hesitation encouraged Li’le Fido and she dared to move forward.

Thanks to a magnificent effort, Li’le Fido was able to spring forward, and as she did, she landed squarely on Old Bob. Obviously inspired, she seized the moment and grabbed the opportunity to bite him on an ear. Old Bob let out a blood curdling yelp, more likely from surprise at the audacity shown by Li’le Fido since both of his ears looked well-chewed from previous run-ins. Fortunately, an old lady, also with much courage, arrived on the scene at that time and came to our aid. Immediately, she called for Old Bob to be off and, as added encouragement, she threw her shopping bag at him to speed his departure! Evidently the old dog realized that he was no match for two women and decided that here, retreat was the better part of valour! Without a further bark or snap from him, poor Old Bob turned tail and took off up the street and away from us. I was very grateful to that old lady, and also to dear Li’le Fido, and thanked her for her kindness. Li’le Fido welcomed his unknown ally and the two Amazons spent a few minutes together expressing their mutual admiration. As my father said, Li’le Fido was game.

We never knew what happened to Li’le Fido. One day, she just disappeared. She had too much sense to run out of the shop and out into the street and risk being killed. My mother believes that somehow she was coaxed out of the shop during a busy lunchtime and was then taken away. There were many customers who had offered to buy Li’le Fido. All offers were politely refused. Some potential buyers were upset at my parents’ unwillingness to part with her. This caused my mother to suspect that one of the disappointed buyers had stolen her. However, whatever the explanation for her disappearance, Li’le Fido was gone and never did return.

To say that we were devastated at the loss of Li’le Fido would not be an exaggeration. My father was very upset and spent a lot of time searching the neighbourhood and asking anyone and everyone if they had seen her. Customers were disappointed not to see her in the shop and shocked to learn that she had disappeared. Sadly, in those days, dogs were often stolen, especially a dog of distinction and intelligence like Li’le Fido. Once we began to accept her loss, we all hoped that wherever she was that she was being treated well and that she was not missing us as much as we were missing her.

Neither Big Fido nor Li’le Fido was forgotten by either of my parents – or by me for that matter. They would often talk of them and recall their ways and behaviours and they would smile and laugh when they remembered the good times and the joy that each brought us. And whenever they remembered the passing of Big Fido, they would go quiet as they relived that afternoon once more in their minds. They would wonder about the fate of Li’le Fido and wonder if she had been well taken care of and had been happy. Both my mother and father were convinced that Li’le Fido never forgot us. Although I can remember these wonderful dogs, I have to confess that it has been a long time since I have thought about them. Writing this story has brought back my memories of them, and I cannot say that this has not filled me with a certain sadness. Unfortunately, time does not heal all things.



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Copyrightę 2010 - : Charles S. P. Jenkins