8-year-old Awaits Thanksgiving Reunion

(Top row L-R) Bob, Dave, Scott, Todd
(Bottom row L-R) Mike, Paul, Mark, Cary

By SCOTT GUTHRIE
Guest columnist for
Charles M. Guthrie
published by the StarTribune
November 23, 1969


   MOM AND DAD told me and my three brothers they had desided to take the bull by the horns as Gramps would say and have all the foks down here for Thanksgiving. They said it woold be a nitemare with eight boys ruffhousing around nocking vases off the tables and banging up the furniture but blood is thiker than water and you half to do your duty to keep the famly together even if you suffer and get gravy on the carpet.

   ALL THE other seven kids have rote the colum for Gramps and now it is my tern except I should of rote before Boby Shoberg did as I am in secund grade and two years older than him and when he rote he had not even got threw kindeygarden yet and did not no how to spell cat. His brothers had to help him.
   My brothers are not helping me which is lucky for me as they are very dum and woold rather tinker with a motorsickle or play hockey or watch TV cartons than get anything in there head.

   GRAMPS gives a kid a dollar for riting his colum and I gess he will do no better than that for me. We have not talked about money but there is no use trying to raze the prise as he is tight and always holding the line on inflashun. But it is a lot of work for one buck espeshully with no help from my brothers but Dad said not to wory as he woold look it over and get rid of the bugs.
   I could not hurt his feelings and tell him to keep his mits out of it but that is how I feel. He is good at fixing up sick dogs and cats which is his bisness and he sings good in a quartet but is not much on lititure and speling.

   DAD SAYS this may be the last time we have everybuddy together and Mom says why, yore fokes look good for a while yet. Dad laffs and says heck, they will live for 20 yrs but it keeps getting harder to get the old man out of a chare. Gramps is jumpy about winter driving and afrade he will skid into the dich. Dad says Gramps may have something their being the driver he is, but as long as Tom is around to drive Dad says it is okay but a year from now Tom may of flew the coop. Tom is Dad's kid brother.
   Dad said it is to bad his old man does not have the zip his mother does as she would be game to take off for Timbukto in a blizard even with the old man at the wheel.
   We have a lot of room now which is nice as their will be 15 hear not counting the dog and us kids will get away by ourself and not be board by Gramps and Dad and Uncle Stan talking politics and telling each other the best way to end the war.

   MY DAD thinks things will work out okay and Uncle Stan says any fool can see we are in trouble but we will save ourself in time. Gramps has gave up hope. He says everything is lousy from baseball to politics.
   Grandma gets sick and tired of Gramps always singing the blues and having all the answers. She says things have been bad before such as the civil war and the depreshun but once we get the war over with and quit throwing all that  money at the moon things will be alright particuly if the young bucks get a haircut and shave.

   MOM SAYS I and my brothers will have to be on our best behavor as it will be a big deal and she needs our help. This means no horsing around unless in the basement. But Dad says it is a good bet the turkey will get nocked on the floor, milk will get spilled in the salid and four or five dishes busted.
   This is all there is and I hope it is one dollar's worth.

Charles M. Guthrie in his chare

Copyright 2019 StarTribune. Republished here with the permission of the StarTribune. No further republication or redistribution is permitted without the express approval of the StarTribune.

Thoughts on Not Getting a Dog

By CHARLES M. GUTHRIE
of the editorial page staff
published by the StarTribune
March 29, 1964


   THERE HASN'T been a dog in the family for 15 years, but we aren't dog haters. My older son has two Scotties and my daughter has a Poodle. The son and daughter now have homes of their own, which is just as well under the circumstances.
   We had a dog for many years, however, and I'd not say unequivocally that I'd never have another. I'm just not the right age for a dog. A young man and and a pooch go well together, and a dog brings comfort and companionship to an oldster. I like to think that several years remain before I'll have to lean on Old Shep in order to get down the street.
   When I advance that far into the shadows I hope I'll be summoned home. The trouble is, I won't be. It will be just my luck to live 20 years longer than I should and have my heirs see the fortune dissipated on nursing-home care.

   ANYWAY, if and when I get old and live in a lonely room, then is when I'll want a dog. Then is when I'll need a friend and it will have to be Old Shep. Until then, though, I hope the fates permit me to be canine-free.
   I was afraid the other day, though, that I'd have a dog in spite of myself. In remembrance of my birthday, this son who has the two Scotties invited us to his place for dinner. His Scotties are mother and son. There was a litter of six and five had been sold.
   "This is a trap," I told my wife. "They're inviting us there for dinner to give me that pup for a birthday present. What'll I do?"
   "Why not accept it? It's old enough by now to be housebroken. It's a registered dog worth at least $100."
   "Not to me it isn't. To me it isn't worth at least two bits."

   "BUT DON'T you know it's stylish to have a dog? One of the reasons we don't circulate in high society is because we're dogless."
   "Well, we had a dog for 13 years and never got within sight of the country club."
   " I know, but that was before dogs were really in. Today the poor have children and the rich have dogs. I was reading in a magazine about dogs having mink sweaters and sable coats, professional dog-walkers and $1,000 funerals. Do you know how much is spent every year for dog and cat food?"
   "Not counting table scraps, you mean?"
   "Definitely not counting table scraps. Only mutts eat table scraps. What is spent annually for dog and cat food totals $550 million, and that is a lot of hamburger--only it isn't hamburger. Hamburger is for the likes of us. It's gourmet stuff."
   "Well," I said, as we pulled up to our son's home, "no dog of mine will get gourmet stuff, mainly because I won't have a dog--I hope. Keep your fingers crossed."

   I IGNORED the two Scotties and concentrated on the grandsons. After we'd eaten a bountiful meal and the birthday cake was brought in, I got my present--a book. Only then did I feel free to mention the subject that had bothered me.
   "You haven't been able to sell the pup, eh?"
   My son looked at me in surprise. "Why, sure! We could have sold him three or four times. Why?"
   "Then why on earth don't you?"
   He grinned at his wife. "She wants to keep him. She thinks he's cute."
   So I'd never even been considered for the dog. For some unaccountable reason, it was quite a let-down.


Copyright 2019 StarTribune. Republished here with the permission of the StarTribune. No further republication or redistribution is permitted without the express approval of the StarTribune.