The Story That Made Me Famous, AKA The Puppy Dog Story

I have to admit that when my friend, Jennifer made a comment to the effect that one of her friends remembered me from Girl’s Camp, I kind of winced. Anybody who knew me from back then, knows what a total and complete spaz I was at Girl’s Camp. My own sisters can testify of the fact. I don’t know why, but something happened to me when I stepped foot onto Waterloo soil. Something just took over, and I was a new person—a complete spastic, giggly, goofy, freak-a-zoid. I hope her friend remembers something different than what I think she remembers. But I’m prepared for the backlash…I guess I deserve it.

I’ve always meant to write this story down. Mostly for my posterity, but also so I can remember how it actually happened rather than what it turned into after the fact. The actual event occurred when I was 12 years old, but the story came about a year or so later, when I started telling it to friends and family at sleepovers and girls camp when a scary story was on the menu. Year after year, I’d be invited to tell “the babysitting story” around the campfire like it was a rite of passage for incoming yearlings, I kind of half-wondered if I should finally slap a copyright on it and sell it to the Westland Stake Girl’s Camp leaders because I would probably make a fortune on royalties. Maybe someday it might make a good plot line for a made-for-TV-movie or an episode of Dr. Phil or something. Anyway, it’s a very strange story that actually happened to me. I will give the facts as they happened. Other versions and interpretations may be out there (as this has been re-told about a million times by second and third parties, and so on, and so on). And I have to admit I have a little (okay a LOT) of the Linda Day in me and some facts have been appropriately exaggerated for dramatic effect.

I started babysitting when I was about 12 years old. I loved it. I loved playing with kids, playing house like grown-ups, and getting paid for it!! I loved having my regulars. I watched for many families in the Livonia Ward, as well as a couple families on my own street. One of my regulars in the Livonia Ward was a family named the Kuhn’s. They had 2 little boys, Brian and Jonathon. Brian was about 4 at the time, and Jonathon was 2. They were comfortable with our family because my Mom had watched Brian a lot after Sister Kuhn had Jonathon, and they discovered all of his health problems. Jonathon had some special needs, and they knew that our family was aware of them. They lived in a small house in a spotty neighborhood…for those familiar with the area, it was over off of Grand River and Orchard Lake Rd…kinda back by that Target off of I-696 (or is it the Lodge?) Anyway, the neighborhood is pretty secluded and covered by huge thick trees, with (as I remember it) very little light, like no street lights. I just remember it being very dark. The Kuhns were on their way to a road rally for adults at the Church. This was pre-cell phone days, so there was really no way to contact them while they were gone. They left the number of the neighbors across the street and figured my parents would be home if anything happened. They left me a list of instructions and off they went. The boys were just finishing their dinner when I arrived, so I finished that up and cleaned up a bit. Sister Kuhn asked me to give them a bath after dinner. (Looking back, and as a parent myself now, I would have NEVER done that. So dangerous!) Anyway, the boys were in the bath playing and I heard a knock at the door. (Also, please turn off your Mommy radar for this one) I left the boys in the tub and went to get the door. (Yikes! I was only 12!) There was nobody there. It was still light out, and I couldn’t see anybody outside walking away, so I went back to the bathroom. I got the boys out of the tub and started dressing them in their jammies in their bedroom. I heard a knock at the door again. The boys’ room was at the back of the house, and as I walked to the front door, I heard a strange commotion at the door. It was like a scratching, high-pitched squeaking sound. I could not make it out. To get to the front door, you had to cross the living room which spanned the front of the house, and had a huge picture window. The door was on the far side of the window. Because of this, whoever was at the door could see right into the house, and would be able to see somebody in the living room approaching the door. The curtains on their window were sheer, so I knew that we were kinda exposed, so to speak. The sound continued, except louder and more intense. My heart started thumping. What on earth was making that sound? I got to the door, and actually stopped myself for a minute to try and process it. The storm door was in front of me, and it was locked, but there was also a screen door after that. I looked out the peephole. I couldn’t see anything on the porch. The sound was coming from inside of the two doors. Like something had gotten wedged or stuck between the doors, and was trying to claw its way out. I went to open the door, and I stopped again. I still couldn’t figure out what it was and I didn’t really want to find out. I’d seen ugly moles and possums in my own backyard growing up in these parts, and those animals are downright freaky. I didn’t realize it then, but I do now…that was a prompting from the Holy Ghost. I realize now that I was inspired NOT to open the door, even though it was my first inclination. Instead, I called the neighbors across the street. It was about 8 by this time. The neighbor was as perplexed as I was. He came across the street, opened the screen door (I was watching him from the living room window), and pulled out a small puppy.

To be continued…