Crusoe

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Some mysteries can never be solved. How did he get there? Where did he come from? Where was his mother? Even after all these years I wonder.

We were playing around the pond that day instead of in the meadow or far off in the woods. The water was shallow at the upper end of the pond and there was a world of interesting creatures there to catch, examine, and release–pollywogs, minnows, frogs, and turtles. My two older brothers, younger sister, and I, barefoot and summer-happy, waded in the water feeling smooth silky mud between our toes. We thought at first that the squeaky cry we heard was some kind of bird, then maybe a weird frog. It sounded like a puppy but it couldn’t be a puppy out in the middle of the pond.

The boys rolled up their britches and waded towards the sound coming from a tiny island. The island appeared to be all bulrushes, the whole little entity no bigger than Mamma’s iron wash pot. My sister Suzanne and I watched in eager excitement to see what in the world the boys would find.

When Charlie held up something that fitted in his hands we still weren’t sure what it was until Stan called out, “It’s a tiny puppy, a little whining puppy.”

I think we named him on our way to the house to get him some milk. There was no doubt Mamma and Daddy would let us keep him. Who could turn away a cute little scrap of puppy who’d been left on an island? We’d all been enthralled by the stories of Swiss Family Robinson by Johann Wyss and Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe. It really wasn’t hard to agree on a name for a puppy shipwrecked on an island. His name, of course, was Crusoe.

Crusoe grew to be a neat, almost plump, brindle bulldog cross with a sweet, teachable nature. He attached himself to Suzanne but tolerated the rest of us. Suzanne was his mistress and his responsibility. If we ever in play seemed to be tussling with his mistress he was ready with a warning snarl. Suzanne taught him to sit up and beg, roll over and play dead, and other cute tricks. He became a constant tagalong, along with our other two dogs, in all our adventures.

The mystery as to how Crusoe arrived on that island is still not solved today almost seventy years later. We speculated, of course. Did his mother swim him out there and then leave him? Did someone paddle a boat through that murky shallow water to deposit that one little puppy on an island? Did a hawk pick him up from his litter mates and then drop him? He was way too little to swim out there himself. In our wildest fantasies we could not think how this puppy with his eyes barely open became abandoned on a tuft of bulrushes in the middle of our pond.

However he came, the little rescue dog became a vital part of our family for many years. In the annals of our many family pets there were others who just showed up and made themselves at home. But Crusoe was the only one who came to us by way of an island. We were all so glad we’d chosen to play by the pond that day. Crusoe was a much better catch than a few pollywogs.