Did You Get Along with Your Brother and Sister?

Good grief! No! We fought like cats and dogs when we were growing up. Joanne and Pat were pretty close and got along better than I did with either of them. My sister and I fought about everything. She took my clothes and wore them to school after I had left early for school with my father in high school. She was angry because our teachers in grammar school always compared her to me ("Why can't you be a good student like Diane?"). She hated school; she didn't like sitting still; she still doesn't. She likes to be going and doing things, whereas i am content to curl up with a book. We "stole" the record player back and forth from each other's rooms and also the electric razor. I wore uniforms and she would never let me borrow her clothes for a dance or going out. I did wear one of her gowns to the Military Ball in university in my senior year and I was crowned queen. She claimed it was because of the dress. Maybe it was. We got along better after I got married and moved away, and even better when I got divorced because she and Jimmie (Grandpa) didn't get along well. Two Geminis butting heads.

Pat and I got along better but his arrogance always makes me a bit annoyed, even today. He is a little put out with me now because of my involvement with CASA, when he had all that trouble over the children in Oklahoma. It's an iffy relationship. I write to him every 6 weeks or so ago but I rarely hear from him. He isn't into computers so email is out. Snail mail is in.

Relationships with brothers and sisters are very complicated.

Our Pets

Yes, I had pets growing up. My first pet was a beagle-mix named Tinkerbelle. We got her when I was about 5 years old, when I was in Kindergarten. She was a sweet dog and I loved her very much. But my parents let the dog out and it roamed around and eventually was hit by a car and killed. It was terribly traumatic for us kids. We cried for days. My father buried her in the woods and marked her grave by putting bricks on the top of it.

Our next pet was a collie mix named Tippy. We got him when I was sick one day. My mother didn't believe in leaving a dog in the house so she let him out every day and ran away every day. One day my father put up a chain so he could move around but he barked continuously and the neighbors complained so we had to give Tippy away.


Our last pet as children was another collie-mix named Sissy. She got her name because we got her on the feast day of St. Francis of Assisi and her real name was Assisi but we always called her Sissy. She adored my grandfather and he adored her. If he walked to our house and then wanted to walk back, there was trouble because Sissy would follow him home. So my mother took my grandfather home most of the time. I was twelve when we got Sissy so I remember her best of all. She would try to hide from my mother when she would call the dog to come inside. Sissy would stand against a tree with her head on the tree; she couldn't see my mother but she didn't know that my mother could see her rear end sticking out from behind the tree. She stayed in our yard or in the woods that surrounded our house until night time when she came in to eat and sleep. My mother only let her in the kitchen and the back hall, where she slept.


On the night my grandfather died, when I was nearly 20 and my brother was 18, Pat sat in the back hall with Sissy and told her that Grandpa wouldn't be coming back anymore. He cried and cried and held Sissy for comfort, since my brother was very close to my grandfather, too. For years afterward, Sissy would get very excited when my uncle and grandmother would come to visit because she expected my grandfather to come out of the car. She always seemed so disappointed when he wasn't there.


She died a few years later when her arthritis got so bad that she couldn't go up and down the stairs anymore. My brother took her to have her put to sleep. It was a sad day. She was such a good and faithful dog.


My parents had a dog my brother gave them a few years later because my father loved dogs. He was a black lab-mix named Duke, after "The Duke"--John Wayne who was one of my father's favorite movie stars. My parents had learned by then not to let their pets roam and Duke was on a long chain outside the back porch. He died after my father had died from peritonitis, from eating a bone that punctured his intestines. My brother was very sad about Duke's death, but I think my mother, who was not an animal person, was relieved that she didn't have to let him in and out and clean up the dog hair.


Pets are important because they teach us to care for God's creatures and they bring us unconditional love and comfort.