My good friend Cathy Drummands told me this story.
Dad’s trained hunting dog was his reward for working six hours each night at a local garage after eleven hour shifts at Ford. “Don’t play with Elvis,” he warned us as he pounded the last nail in the dog’s new house.
That dog lured us inside his new house as soon as Dad left. We discovered it wasn’t large enough for two five-year-old girls, two-year-old Kenny and the thirty pound beagle during the heat of a Michigan August. We were packed in so tight we couldn’t turn around to get out.
We were stuck, and Elvis was in distress when Dad’s car pulled into the driveway. He had to use a crow bar to pry off the roof.
Elvis got some water. We got spankings. Mary was sent home, but came back with a note pinned to her dress.
Her father asked mine to punish her the same way as he had his own children…including the spanking. Dad gave her bottom a swat and sent her stumbling home in tears.
After my spanking my bottom stung so much I thought my panties were on fire.
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