Kudzu Watermelon

I promised to tell you about my dog who almost choked to death. Before I tell you about how he choked to death, I have to tell you a little bit about him.

Kudzu Watermelon came to live with us when I was in elementary school. (I have a terrible memory, so I can't remember how old I was or what season it was or any other specifics.) Anyway, Kudzu's mama was a cocker spaniel named Courtney, and his daddy was a black lab that lived down on the corner. My brother and I called him a Cockador. We figured if the Cockapoos and Labradoodles could get away with it, we could, too. Kudzu looked like a small black lab, and he had a white star on his chest.

Kudzu was supposed to be named Paco Joe, but he liked to play in the clover. Clover seemed like a sissy name for a boy, so we named him Kudzu, because that was definitely more masculine and wonderful sounding. (I know - I can't believe my parents let us name him that, either.)

We didn't have a fence in our backyard, so we got some wire and made a little pen up next to the house on the covered patio. Before long, the cats in the neighborhood got wind that there was dog food in our backyard and poor Kudzu never got to eat because the cats ate it all. So, we put a window screen over his little pen and fastened it down with bread ties. Because we're handy and resourceful like that.

Well, Kudzu cried a lot at night and the vet suggested that we put a radio near him. The vet said the human voices would comfort the little guy. So, we took an old radio that we had lying around and put it in the pen with Kudzu, because the outdoor outlet was in the pen.

One day Mama was sitting in the house and heard a noise.

Wump. Wump. Wump.

Mama wasn't sure what it was, so she began to investigate. Well, when she opened the sliding glass door, the noise got louder and she looked down and saw poor little Kudzu hanging BY HIS NECK from the radio cord, eyes bulging, tongue hanging out. He had gotten all twisted up in that cord and was just swinging back and forth, hitting the side of the house.

Wump. Wump. Wump.

Well, of course my Mama screamed, because that's what she always does when there's any kind of emergency. And my brother came running. They couldn't get the screen off the pen fast enough because they couldn't get the bread ties undone. Meanwhile, Kudzu was still swinging back and forth.

Wump. Wump. Wump.

Finally, they got the screen off and untangled little Kudzu from his noose. Mama took him inside and wrapped his little body in a towel and promptly called the vet. That conversation went something like this:

"Vet clinic."

"OHMIGOSH MY DOG HAS HUNG HIMSELF!!!"

"Let me get the vet."

"Ma'am? What has happened?"

"KUDZU HUNG HIMSELF!"

"I didn't know he was depressed."

(I promise that's what the vet said to Mama. My Mama doesn't lie.)

I don't even remember if Mama took the dog in to see the vet that day. I just know that he SURVIVED, doggone it. The little bugger survived.

To this day, I say that the hanging was the reason Kudzu was so mean. And that dog was mean, let me tell you. He loved every one of the four people that lived in his house, but that was it. I will never forget how much Kudzu despised my ex-husband. Eventually, they learned to live together, but I don't think Kudzu ever really liked him. I think he just put up with him for my sake, bless his heart.

Kudzu was a good dog, yes ma'am, he was.