My Dog Skip

Willie Morris:
Does it ever itch or hurt, like it's still there?

Jack Morris:
Yes, it hurts.

Willie Morris:
But they gave you a medal for it, didn't they?

Jack Morris:
I'd rather have the leg.

Narrator:
In my life I find that memories of the spirit linger and sweeten long after memories of the brain have faded.

Narrator:
Why in childhood and youth do we wish time to pass so quickly - we want to grow up so fast - yet as adults we wish just the opposite?

Narrator:
I almost lost old Skip that day. Even as he was sleeping on the operating table, he was still teaching me. That day, I became a young man. Why, in childhood and youth, we wish time to pass so quickly. We want to grow up so fast. Yet, as adults, we wish just the opposite.

Dink:
It's not the dying that scares me, it's the killing.

Dink:
You bawling like a big baby 'cause you lost that ball game?

Willie Morris:
What do you know about it? You didn't come you big liar. Leave me alone.

Dink:
That's how it is, isn't it? You're a hero today, and then you're a goat tomorrow. Now I didn't come because games don't mean nothing to me anymore.

Willie Morris:
It's not the game. It's Skip. He's gone for good.

Dink:
For good? Now how do you know that? You some kind of fortune teller?

Willie Morris:
I got mad at him and I hit him. And he ran away. Just like you ran away. Skip was never afraid of nothing.

Dink:
You think I don't know what folks are saying? That old Dink's a coward? Huh? Well I know. And you know what? They're right. I got scared. And I ran. You think it was 'cause I was afraid of dying? Because I wished I was dead plenty of times.

Willie Morris:
Then what was it?

Dink:
It ain't the dying that scary, boy. It's the killing. Now look, that dog ain't lost. You just need to know where to find him. There's gotta be at least one place around here that you hadn't thought of to look at, right?

Jack Morris:
Sometimes he gets mad and says things he doesn't mean. He gets it from his mother. When I got back from Spain, I got into accounting. I figured I could hide behind a desk. I looked down, and I didn't so much as look up for a whole year. When I finally did, people weren't staring at me anymore. I guess they kind of forgot about it.

Dink:
Well, Mr. Morris. You got a purple heart. I got a yellow stripe. You can trust me. They don't forget about cowards.

Jack Morris:
Well, folks like to keep things small, Dink. Fit you into one pocket or the other. Give a man a label, and you never really need to get to know him. My son, he looks up to you, Dink. Not because you can run or throw a ball. You're his hero because you're his friend. And that's what he needs. A friend.

Narrator:
I was an only child. He was an only dog.

Jack Morris:
You know I.C.? Colored fellow at the service station?

Ellen Morris:
Sure.

Jack Morris:
His son came back from Europe today.

Ellen Morris:
Wonderful.

Jack Morris:
In a box.

Narrator:
Like all dogs, Skip was colorblind. He made friends easily with people of all races and origins. The town was segregated back then, but as we know, dogs are a whole lot smarter than people.

Narrator:
There were so many surprises that year. Who'd have thought that my daddy would ever let me play football? And who'd have dreamed that Rivers Applewhite, the prettiest girl in town, would let me hold her hand? It was indeed a strange and unusual time. Old Skip had helped me through the stuggles of boyhood. But his job was far from done.

Willie Morris:
Haven't seen you around much.

Dink:
Yeah, I've been pretty busy.

Willie Morris:
I'm playing some ball now, ya know.

Dink:
Oh yeah? That's good.

Willie Morris:
Yeah. Right. Well, see ya. Dink, It's opening day. That's what they call the first game of the season, and well, I was sort of wondering if... I was hoping that maybe... you might come.

Dink:
Yeah, sure kid. That'd be fine.

Willie Morris:
Really? Ok, great! Well, I better get on down there. See ya!

Dink:
Thanks for picking my number.

Narrator:
Old Skip was 11, and feeble with arthritis, but he never lost that old devilish look in his eye. He made my room his own. Came across an old photo of him not long ago. His little face, with the long snout sniffing at something in the air. His tail was straight out and pointing. Eyes were flashing in some momentary excitement. He always loved to be rubbed on the back of his neck. And when I did it, he'd yawn, and he'd stretch, reach out to me with his paws as if he was trying to embrace me. I recieved a trans-atlantic call one day. "Skip died", Daddy said. He and my mama wrapped him him my baseball jacket. They buried him out under the elm tree, they said. That wasn't totally true. For he really lay buried in my heart.

Willie Morris:
[grabs Junior and shakes him angrily] WHAT'D YOU DO TO HIM? THAT'S MY DOG! SKIP!

Junior Smalls:
[grasps Willie] I told you to keep that damn mutt out of here.