Good morning! I hope that I’m on the back side of whatever kind of virus that I’ve had. It hasn’t been a fun few days. I’ve really missed you all in blogworld!
I jotted down this little blurb about my wonder years, and hope that you enjoy it. The picture is of me when I was about two or three. I had all of these blonde ringlets when I was tiny. I still have a little bit of natural curl, of which I am most grateful.
Anyway, “Big Boy” was the name of Gramma Findley’s big collie dog. I say “big,” because was big to me when I was little. One of my earliest memories of growing up in rural south Alabama is of me playing with Big Boy. He looked like a boy Lassie, with his white and orangey-tan hair. He was such a good dog. He never bit me, and he tolerated me hugging all over him.
One of my spookiest early childhood memories was of when he went missing. Gramma looked all over the place for him. A few days later she sadly told me that Big Boy had gotten run over in the road. That would have probably been state Highway 17 that runs north and south from Florence to Mobile.
After that, in my childhood mind, I would get the scariest feeling when I had to find something like a lost toy. To this day, I hate searching for something that’s not in its right place. (And in my house, lots of things end up in the wrong place!) It could be that I’m just impatient. It also could be some prick of fear from the recesses of my mind of when we lost Big Boy.