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February 8, 2006

Soupy Sales Killed My Dog

... I think

Deciding which pet to write about here during Pets Week was tough. After all, I’ve been the proud owner of Silver the Bionic Goldfish, Kullervo the Stump-Tailed Gerbil, and Gizmo the Vicious Attack Cat. But my mind kept coming back to a long-ago family dog with the unwieldy name of Archibald Bunkerbald Bunkerbald McLeish (that’s what happens when Mom goes to work and lets her alcoholic husband and very young daughters name the dog).

In life Archie was an ordinary mutt. But in death he achieved near-mythic status (at least in my family) for his fateful encounter with the front-end of Soupy Sales’ sedan.

Before Soupy (still alive and kickin’ at 80) slaps me with a libel suit, let me prevaricate a wee bit. I didn’t see Soupy do it. I was only four years old at the time, and wouldn’t have known Soupy Sales from Sally Struthers. And various members of my family are at odds as to what actually happened.

But here’s what I know. Archie was struck by a car while out for a walk with my older sister and her friends. We lived in New York’s Westchester County. Because of its proximity to Manhattan, it wasn’t unheard of for the famous and near-famous to blow through our little town. When my mother worked at the local diner, she waited on a handful of celebs, her favorites being Fred Gwynne and Al Lewis (a.k.a. Herman and Grandpa Munster).

So it’s not inconceivable that Soupy Sales, perhaps best known for getting the most pies in the face on TV, was driving the car that sent Archie to doggie heaven.

I was home when it happened, alternately dressing and undressing my Dressy Bessie doll, when my mother ran inside the house, covered in blood, and told me to come outside to say goodbye to Archie. I refused to budge, thinking somehow that if I didn’t go outside and say goodbye, it wouldn’t be true.

Later, after Archie was buried in the backyard and we’d stopped sobbing, my sister showed us the wrinkled up paper on which Soupy Sales had scrawled his name. (Who stops to sign autographs after something like that? Sorry I killed your dog. Love, Soupy.)

Since muttricide isn’t a jailable offense, Soupy went on to receive roughly a million more pies in the face throughout the years. Whenever I’d see his smiling mug on TV, I’d point an accusing finger at the screen and yell “dog killer!”

My older sister, the only member of our family to witness the incident, now claims it wasn’t Soupy after all. She says Soupy did come through town, stopped to ask directions, and signed a few autographs. A different driver, on a different day, killed my dog.

She would have been about six at the time.

And she’s been known to drink.

My mother sides with me and says Soupy did it. You’d think her memory would be the more credible since she was an adult at the time. But my mother has been known to forget my birthday, and occasionally my name.

So the jury’s still out.

This blog was brought to you by Monkey Love, Brenda Scott Royce’s hilarious debut novel about love, odd jobs and odder pets.

Posted by at 8:00 AM | Comments (7)

Comments

Posted by: Lani at February 8, 2006 8:58 AM

Posted by: Alesia Holliday at February 8, 2006 9:56 AM

Posted by: Eileen at February 8, 2006 2:03 PM

Posted by: Faith Bicknell-Brown at February 8, 2006 4:09 PM

Posted by: Michelle C at February 8, 2006 5:11 PM

Posted by: Brenda at February 8, 2006 6:44 PM

Posted by: Michelle C at February 11, 2006 2:17 PM