Should I ask my mother whether Larchmont Jeffrey really went to a nice family in the country?

My question refers back to this beagle issue. Should I leave my fantasy alone of Jeff romping in the fields and happily chasing rabbits?

It might give her a laugh. :)

Some things are best left to fantasy as it is more desirable than the truth. But I sincerely believe he went to a nice family and lived out his life rombing on a farm. Maybe chased a few rabbits…oh no, now its MY fantasy

I don’t know but the question qualifies as poetry in my book.

I would ask. Why not take advantage of the opporunity while you have it so you won’t wonder about Jeffrey? If your Mom doesn’t remember we’ll just assume he went to a very good home in the country and spent the last of his days running around, sniffing good smells, and remembering all those great rides in the taxi.

You will wonder about it forever if you don’t ask. Maybe he really did lead a long happy life in the country, you might be worried for nothing! Maybe he rode a tractor…

Maybe he chased rabbits…

There was another doggie episode. During my sophomore year at college, my roommate rescued a mangy little dog from a lab at Harvard Med. School. After trying to keep it in our dorm room unsuccessfully, I brought it home. My sister, who was 10 years younger, fell in love with the little guy.

A car ran the dog down out of sight of our house, but my my sister(then aged 9) heard the shot from the cop’s gun. My mother told her that the dog had run away, which my sister knew was a lie. (I wish that I had not suddenly remembered that.)

You should ask her but only if you are ready to maybe have a smile about it regardless of what may had happened. I think deep down you probably already no the answer to this but either way it could be ruff.

I think you should ask, and if you decide to, please share the answer.

Good idea. My sense is that Jeff was relocated happily and that my mother lied to my little sister due to her age. A misguided but understandable decision back in the June Cleaver era.

Ah! June Cleaver. I always thought see looked sexy in that dress. Ward was a lucky man.

What were we talking about again?

@AC: I will spare you the description of the kind of serious and painful underwear she needed to look that way.

@gail Just curious, who named the dog Larchmont Jeffrey and why?

Whether or not LJ made it to the nice family or went to the same farm that my Dad used for our many animal friends, enough time has passed that Jeff and all the rest are in a better place with St Francis of Assissi, dontcha think?

I always imagined her sans underwear.

@AstroChuck I have an idea no one in your imagination has underwear

My paternal grandfather was crazy about dogs and had two Great Danes that I used to ride as a toddler. He got the beagle from a breeder and due to pedigree, named him LJ.

Somewhere in my childhood we also had a daschund named Hagen, after the black knight in Die Gôtterdamerung. He croaked from disc problems.

@Galileogirl; Of course you are right. However, as my mother approaches her date with St. Francis, I have just a few questions left. So the issue is really about her and me.

What it’s really about is can you let go of the part of gailcalled that was created by that fib, or not? Iso—do not apologize for my spelling or grammar—

Wow, Gail! Are you okay?

<hands Gail a nice cup of warm tea>

Wow, Chuck! Are you okay?

<hands Chuck a cold drink of water>

@chuck…easy fella…we all know Donna Reed was way hotter.

and don’t get me started on Aunt Bea!

<shutters violently>

“her aprons are all queen sized she gives my blue jeans a rise when she walks by.”

I asked my mother about my sharpay chopsy, short for chopsticks. I was told she went to a farm when we gave her away. I asked my mother of she killed my dog. My mom was a bit offended and swore chopsy really did go to live the life on the country.

How is it they all go to live in the country?
My rabbit I had when I was 10 went to live “in the country”. No animals go to live in the city, in a town, etc.

Ratty, my kids’ white rat had the grace to die in situ. He is buried in the back yard of a nice house in Philly. We had a lovely ceremony and laid a little grave marker on the spot.

@Chyna; always leave ‘em laughing, which I am doing now and then going to bed.

@loser: Shutters? Or shudder?

@asmonet…let those without speling ishues casst the phirst ston.

@gailcalled- I have no idea where this has been buried all these years. I just realized my father told me my dog ran away! I was in 3rd grade, I remember walking up and down the street bawling my eyes out looking for her and calling her name. Strangers pulled over their cars to ask me if I was ok. I was out there for hours until I ended up coming into my house and just KNEW my parents gave her away. They both lied to me and I totally could see right through them. Wow, this is nuts.

I don’t mean to hijack (sp?) your question, it just all came out. Sorry!

@elijahsuicide…so your parents let you go run in the same traffic that probably killed your dog?

We lived on a cul de sac. There was no traffic. My dog wasn’t killed by a car, my dad actually did take it to a farm. My mom told me a few years later and I had completely forgotten about it until now.

Unless my mom was lying about the farm

@elijahsuicide…I’ll give you the proper amount of time to catch up.

This reminds me of when my son was a toddler and wanted to know where Grandma’s chickens went. Grandma told him they went to Bermuda for the winter. They must have liked it they never came back.

@Blondesjon Ok, I’m slow. It’s all coming together now. But I honestly think he gave her away, not because she could have a better home, but because he hated her. She was a mutt and he found every excuse to not let me have her. It’s to much of a coincidence for her to run away or get hit by a car. For all I know he could of done something bad to her. He wasn’t winning any parenting awards, if you know what I mean.

That’s hysterical, “someday I want to go to Bermuda” will have a whole new meaning!

Gail, ask her only if you really want to know, and you won’t get frustated if/when she doesn’t remember. That’s two big ‘ifs’.

When I was little, I had to give away my first cat (an orange tiger named Ginger) to my cousins due to allergies. When she disappeared from their home, my uncle told me that he had taken the cat for a ride to 7–11 (WTF?), someone saw her in the backseat of the car, and bought the cat from him for thousands of dollars because she was ‘so rare’, and they knew how to ‘raise her correctly’. I actually believed that shit for several years! Hey, I was 4.

@saranwrapper Shar pei

@asmonet: Hmm. I wonder what I would be violently doing to shutters?

@syz oops

I now do live in the country and it is crawling with animals, domesticated and otherwise. Wild turkeys, bunnies, foxes, skunks, rabbits, turtles, possums, deer, bear, hawks, and raccoons have all been relocated here, it seems.

Everyone owns not one dog or cat but at least two. My sister in her heyday had chickens, guinea fowl, zebra finches and three dogs. The various winged creatures did not go to Jamaica but got picked off by foxes or coyotes.

Now she has seven honey bee hives. That requires an expensive electric fence to fend off the bears, beach umbrellas in the summer to keep the hives from overheating, and beach chairs for observing or meditating. Never mind the hazmat suits to cope with the occasional swarming.

I’d rather spend the winters in Bermuda. Wind chill today is 7˚ and 6–10” more snow tonight.

For those treating this question as private therapy, my bill is in the mail. No cash, please, only gold bullion.

After this thread, I kinda appreciate my mom more. One day I was walking around the house when I was eight and the bird cage was gone.

“Mom, where did my birds go?”
“I sold them.”
“WHAT?! Damn it!” Runs away.

Never had to wonder about them. Same thing happened with my ferrets and one of our dogs, if you can’t take care of them, you find a nice family and let the kid say goodbye.

@gailcalled…I work for a fella that owns several farms in the area. 5 dogs, 20+ cats, longhorns, black angus, llamas (they keep away the coyotes), zebus (small African cattle), horses, peacocks, ducks, and very ill tempered donkey named Elmer. No partridgesin any pear trees but that’s not from a lack of trying. We have no bear in the area but coyotes are a constant problem. I only tell you this because I didn’t figure you to be the country type. I also answered because I agree that gold is the only safe bet in these troubled economic times. [tips his Stetson and winks as he leaves] Ma’am…

Thanks for reminding me. Some people do keep llamas and peacocks and even a few bison. They are neighbors of Allan Goldstein, who lived high-off-the-hog and just testified in DC in front of a congressional committee that Madoff had put him (Allan) into the poor house. http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20090106/ap_on_go_co/congress_madoff

I would say ask only if you are psychologically ready to hear the answer. Your late brother was perhaps in his forties (maybe a bit younger) when he realized the beloved blankie of his childhood had probably not been sent off to a needier child in India….

@Susan; Please tell me you jest. I do remember that blankie; there were some plots afoot to snip off bits whenever Donnie allowed it to be laundered. This version is a new story in the family lexicon. Is nothing sacred? Was he scarred by the discovery? Did he ever talk about the family dogs; Petey, Larchmont Jeffrey, Hagen and the mutt I brought home from college?

Oh my goodness, gailcalled, I am fresh out of bullion, do you take plastic? My brother would sit in before the front loading washer watching his blanket go round, refusing to leave until it was again, sanitary. I think he was twelve when it finally disinegrated into little bits.

No jest. It was kind of a realization, belatedly, that the story he had been told might not be true. The blankie-taking might have been in conjunction with a trip your father or parents took—so they could hand deliver the gift.
And yes, the dogs were also a part of his happy home experiences. I know most of the stories. And I personally remember the last one, unable to go upstairs, with strange bladder problems?
Ah, memories.

You can ask your Mom about this as well.

Susan: I think I need to find my therapist for some more sessions. Hand-delivered to a needy child in India!