Pokey, the Picket Fence, and a Poor Idea

Yesterday when I looked at those photos of the family bell, I noticed the picket fence in the picture and another set of long forgotten memories came flooding back.

That picket fence enclosed a small dog run. Access to it from the yard was through a very tiny gate. (You can glimpse that between the two trees.) Getting a mower between the posts of that little gate was difficult and frustrating. So, my dad used a different kind of mower.

Pokey.

Pokey was small enough to squeeze through the gate and into the dog run. Even better, he was too small to jump or step over the fence. So, we would bring him up from the pasture, lead him through that little gate, and he'd spend the next couple of hours happily "mowing." Win-win for us and for Pokey (Me leading my sister Jenny on Pokey.)

One day, though, it inspired a not-so-good idea. Pokey was in there munching and I got the bright idea of seeing if I could get Pokey up the porch steps and into the house. (I was seventeen and should have known better.)

No one else was home, and so... up the stairs he went and through the door into the back foyer. And then I heard the crunch of gravel as my mother drove up the driveway. I began hurriedly backing him out but she caught me with Pokey half in/half out of the house. Needless to say, she was NOT happy.

Amy and Pokey

Ask me then why I did it, and I would respond, "I don't know." Ask me now, and you would get the same response. I truly have no clue! (When a student would give me an "I don't know" response, I understood - sometimes you do things and don't know why!)

Pokey in his late thirties.

The story of me bringing Pokey into the house is a favorite one of my kids and grandkids and they enjoy having me recount it just as much as I enjoy retelling it.

I'm glad that little white picket fence prompted those memories.