Fifty years ago today, President Kennedy was killed in Dallas. I was only five years old, so it didn't make much of an impression on me. What I do remember clearly is that there was nothing on TV except news about the assassination - on all three channels! - and it was the day my parents rescued a German Shepherd named Major.
Major belonged to a young couple that lived behind us, and he was kept tied up in their back yard. They were gone a lot and often Major would get his chain wrapped around a tree until he couldn't move or reach his water dish, if he hadn't already emptied it or tipped it over. Several times Dad climbed over the fence to untangle the dog and to refill his water dish.
On the night the President was killed the rain was just pouring. I checked the weather records for that date and learned that more than two inches of rain fell in the St. Louis area that day. Once more the dog was tangled up and couldn't move, so when Dad came home from work he went and freed the dog. This time he brought the dog into our house and called the Jefferson County sheriff. I was thrilled to death with this big wet dog.
In my memory, Major was a HUGE damp dog, and very gentle. He probably wasn't much bigger than Siri but to a five year old that's still a pretty big dog. Eventually a sheriff's deputy came to the house and took a report, and he took Major away. His owners moved away soon after that. I was told that they didn't get the dog back, but I never learned what did happen to him.
I've had a thing for German Shepherds ever since. I hope Major had a good life.