Dogs ought not visit Herndon, people ought not vote for him

I don’t know how old I was, three? Four? It was at edge of my first memories, having screamed in an airplane for the first time. Transitioning from the gentle acceleration of many propeller driven flights to the scream of the jet engine. Scared me … I thought I would die. Flying from Germany to my grandpa’s farm in Elmo, Missouri.

Champ was the first dog I remember knowing. A German shepherd taller than I, but as protective of me as Mom, as dedicated to an insignificant child as the most loyal friend. Mom and dad loved me first, grandpa and grandma likely came in a close second. But to this day, no love compares to that of Champ. Mom said he slept under my crib when we first visited the farm.

He stood by my stroller, growling at anyone who came near he didn’t trust. When I could toddle the next visit home, Champ stayed glued to my side. He was there to greet me for half a decade. My mom told me often of the day the mailman, delivering a package, tried to pat me on the head and open the gate. Had his gloves been tighter or grandpa a step later, mom said …

Then we came back and Champ wasn’t there. Neither was grandpa … he’d died of a heart attack. I never knew my grandpa well, I missed Champ.

Years later dad told me one of grandpa’s neighbors told him Champ had been in a pack of dogs that had killed some sheep.

According to dad, grandpa just nodded, went in and loaded his pistol, walked out and took Champ out to a nice place and put a bullet in his and his grandson’s best friend’s head.

“Once they have the taste,” grandpa said, according to my dad, “you ain’t got no choice. Not if you’re going to be a good neighbor.”

I came to appreciate my grandpa’s decision to kill my dog. I did not like it, how I wish Champ had not killed sheep. My grandpa had the strength to do what had need be done.

There’s a story about a dog crossing onto the edge of Scott Herndon’s property a few years ago. Our next Senator laid a bullet into the back of his neighbor’s dog. Running home. Not near livestock. The boy who pulled that trigger missed. The dog lived. But those who cared for him shelled out hard money.

The boy who hopes to be our Senator … Please, no. We don’t need such weakness … such cowardice. Sit back, watch and grow up. Come back when you get a clue, if ever you do.