Earlier this week, I saw something I haven't seen in quite some time. It was a real ice cream truck. Those are hard to come by here anymore. As I watched it, my mind went back to the memory I will always associate with ice cream trucks.
My grandpa had been a self-professed dog hater all his life. However, he finally decided to get a dog of his own after meeting a Shetland Sheepdog that he really liked. He'd been so charmed by the dog that he began searching for one right away. I'd gone with them to look at the puppy and he rode home on my lap from the breeder's house just a year before. Cavett was quite a little character and my grandpa spoiled the dog royally. He was so spoilt that my grandpa would go to the grocery store deli and buy him roast beef, then sit on the step in the kitchen and tear it into little pieces for him, hand feeding them to him one by one.
Every day on the way home from school, my sister and I stopped by their house. Our mom was usually working and so she wouldn't know if we got home right away anyway. We loved stopping to play with Cavett and talk to my grandparents. One thing was always certain during the warm months at their house. There was always a box of ice cream sandwiches in their freezer. We were always allowed to have one unless it was the last one. If it was the last one, it had to be saved because Cavett got an ice cream sandwich every afternoon.
Of course, one afternoon, it happened that they ran out of ice cream sandwiches. For some reason, they hadn't been to the store, or hadn't realized the last one had disappeared from the box. Whatever the case, it was still a fact that Cavett was in danger of missing his afternoon treat. Sure enough, the ice cream truck went by that afternoon. My grandpa stopped it and bought an ice cream sandwich for Cavett and whatever frosty treat my sister and I requested and life was good again.
The next day, the ice cream truck came by again like clockwork. However, there was something different on this day. As the music of the truck chimed past the house, Cavett ran out, sat down and howled as if his heart were broken. He learned that quickly that the ice cream truck jingle meant ice cream sandwiches and he thought it was time. Of course, the freezer had been restocked with plenty of ice cream sandwiches by then and there was no need to buy one from the truck. It didn't matter to Cavett. He howled long and loud, getting fully in touch with his inner wolf. Just as he finished his mournful serenade, the truck came back by and he had to start all over again.
For the rest of the time my grandparents lived there, Cavett went through the same routine, howling his heart out until the music faded away. They tried to make sure they had him in the house when it would go by, but it didn't always happen. He did always howl whenever he heard that sound, though, for the rest of his life. To this day, I can't hear or see an ice cream truck and not remember that remarkable little dog!
We're participating in the blog hop again this weekend! Feel free to join iin the fun!