Another
other story from my sister Pat and took place at the Northfield house in the
Palisades was about my Dad. He bought a bitch Cocker Spaniel thinking he would
make a quick buck breeding purebreds. Her name was Lady Tupper, the heroine of
a novel by Daphne DeMaurier (Jamaica Inn, The Birds, Rebecca all became
Hitchcock movies) that Mom was reading at the time. The whole thing turned into
a fiasco. Dad inadvertently had bred the bitch to its own father. Probably
didn’t check all the papers properly. On
the night of delivery the dog only had four pups. She deposited them all over
the floor in the garage and they nearly froze to death. My Mother tried to
revive them by wrapping them up in towels and placing them on the door of the
oven to thaw them out. They survived for a while and eventually one died; they
gave one to the person for a stud fee, and another they sold. Dad ended up
keeping the last female. Her name was Candy. She was a lovable mutant with a
large bump on her head. So much for Dad’s “Quick Buck” foray. This was the dog
from my earliest childhood memory.
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