Security was haphazard in those days but I felt safe with Billie. Soon, I’ll get to Billie.
Sometimes on the weekend my Dad would take me with him when he visited one of his business cronies. My Dad who I believed knew more about Restaurants than anyone, would consult with a select group of owners though his regular day job was that of a waiter. I learned later on in my life that my Dad had done it all in restaurants – waiter, Bartender bus person, manager or assistant. Occasionally he was also owner but on those rare occasions something would always go wrong. So one Saturday he met with a business owner to discuss a bar alteration and I was with him. I played while I waited, wandering around and exploring the parking lot, my dad and the owner standing nearby. I saw s dark shadow in the distance and started toward it. The owner saw my movement and called out to me o to go in that direction. I, of course, did. By the time the owner realized I had not changed course I was near the shadow. Out of the gloom came the hot coals of Bille’s eyes. He got to me and sized me up while the adults came running, sounded frightened, toward us. Billie sized them up, turned back to me and licked my face, and then went plomf! as he dropped to the ground by my feet. And then I was on top of Billie. The owner and my Dad arrived and the owner told us what he knew of Bille’s story.
Billy belonged to a Canadian Mountie who used to beat him. Eventually the Mountie got reassigned and he sold Billy. To this day if Billy saw red he went berserk with rage. That was a lot of rage – a combination of Timber Wolf and German Shepherd. Th restaurant owner bought him to guard the restaurant – he would roam around the restaurant at night in the dark – a silent, deadly alarm.
The weeks went by, my Dad, also handy with building tools, rebuilt the bar by himself. The owner soon go used to letting Billy off his chain because when we were together Bill’s Focus was on protecting me. Investors would meet the owner at the restaurant and those that knew Billie shook their heads at the sight of the big dog plopping down in the shade with me using his side as pillow.
Faith came one Saturday with our Dad and with me. She had heard so much about Billy and really wanted to meet him. Billie snarled and make a moan of hate, and Fathie cried and then the adults arrived. No one had told my sister not to wear red. No one. I failed to protect my sister because I was stupid. I was stupid.
Weeks went by and Dad finished the bar and Billie was not a topic of discussion in my home. Until Dad, no starting at the restaurant until later, sat with us at the table and loud enough for me to hear, he told the story of robbers trying to break into his friend’s restaurant. It was surmised he waited silently in the dark for them and when the door was forced open he attacked. The next day the owner and the policemen found Billie sitting on his haunches on the exterior landing still dripping blood, blood splattered everywhere. I never heard about Billie again.