Little-A Picks Lefty

By Ted E. Hill

In a classic tale of a boy and his dog, this is the heartwarming story of Little-A and his pup, Lefty. But Little-A is not your average six-year-old, and Lefty is not your typical dog. They share similar physical challengesand so much more.

Set in lower Delaware, on an estate that is as picturesque as it is serene, boy and dog are united with the help of the Old Serge, a retired veteran and owner of the estate. Although the Old Serge is an expert with children, a revered father, and adored grandfather, well loved and respected by the wonderful family members we meet throughout the story, he has never come across anything quite like what he sees unfold between Little-A and Lefty. The bond between these two extends farther than that of any boy and dog hes ever knownand maybe even beyond the realm of human consciousness. Part mystery, part myth, this adventure explores the amazing possibilities that are present when a lot of love comes in contact with a little magic.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Inspiring Voices
• Release date: May 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9781462407156

Ted E. Hill

Ted E. Hill is a native of Delaware, born in Wilmington in 1922. He has enjoyed a long and interesting life, having spent more than twenty years in the military. The most important aspect of Ted’s life has always been his family. He is the proud father of five and grandfather of ten.

Book preview

Little-A Arrives

T his was the kind of morning that couldn’t pass without thanking God for the gift of sight. The sun was becoming visible, creeping slowly but surely, out of a distant wheat field. A slight breeze heightened the scene, creating an illusion of the wheat pushing the sun from its slumber. I had witnessed this scene many times over the years, with an ever increasing appreciation for its beauty. Nature’s special way of saying good morning to those who will take the time to stop, look, and enjoy. This particular morning, my time to enjoy was cut short when a white tractor trailer appeared at the entrance of my driveway. It was large and clean as if it had just left the showroom floor, and much earlier than I’d expected. The drive from New York City to my compound in lower Delaware is over 300 miles, this go-getter must’ve been up and on the road long before dawn. A bit bewildered, I began to make my way toward the early bird perched on the edge of my property. Before I reached the gate, this 6 foot, 200 pound example of a real man was standing there, hand extended, a broad smile on his face.

He spoke I’m Mike and my money says you’re the old Serge. Where is the best spot for unloading my truck? I’m expecting my work crew around 9 AM, and after that I will be very happy to relax and accept your invitation for a hot cup of coffee. In sharp contrast to his concise but complete explanations regarding the logistics of his job here, his answer as to when I should expect to see my new tenants was less than to the point. Detecting a hint of uncertainty in his voice for the first time, he’d told me he ‘believed it would be later today or tomorrow in the morning’. I was all the more confused when Mike backed Ms. Emily’s convertible Jaguar out of the moving van. It occurred to me that there was more to the story than he was willing to contribute, but, told myself perhaps he didn’t know why her car arrived without her, and didn’t pursue it any further. I stuck around long enough for him to show me the floor plan created by my grandson then used by Ms. Emily to map out the positioning of each piece of furniture. I began thinking it would be necessary to get in touch with my grandson if I wanted any further information. After all, he was the one who handled the whole transaction with Ms. Emily, from his law office in New York. Mike stood as he saw a pickup stop at the gate, assuming this could very well be his work crew. I got up, intending to head to the nearest phone and see what more I could find out. Before we parted ways, he turned to me and said there had to be a higher power in this, no other way could such a miracle come about. I met Ms. Emily, and her little A, and I’m sure your life as well as hers and the little guy’s will be greatly blessed. Well, at that point my curiosity got the better of me, and I made the call.

Rodney Junior gave Pop-Pop the run around for a few minutes before getting down to business. He finally gave me the answer I’d been after, I’m bringing Little-A and Ms. Emily down in time for dinner, we’ll be there by 7pm at the latest. he said. Brian will also be coming, so tell Caleb and Tina we are ready for one of their big home cooked meals!

Caleb and Tina were the first two people that my wife and I hired when we moved down here, and started our retirement dream. We advertised for a husband and wife team that would be the handy man and cook on the compound. They were the perfect couple, with some strong ties to my past, and have become more family than employees.

My twin grandsons, Rodney Junior and Brian, both practice law. I have them to thank for finding Ms. Emily Russell.

Terri is deserving of a medal, for having 3 sons under 1 year old at the same time! Of course that was many moons ago now, but not long after the arrival of the twins, she had their third and final baby, Cory. God bless her, she survived, and, with the help of Rod Sr., of course, raised 3 of the 5 intelligent, successful grandsons I’m blessed to have. Am I biased? Of course, I am their grandfather! But I’d say that you could ask almost anyone who knows those boys and they’d tell you the exact same thing. As for how I got the nickname Old Serge, it’s from back in my days serving 20 plus years in the U.S. army, most of them as a first Sergeant. I was injured while serving with the 29th division in Normandy, and spent time in an Army hospital in England. I was transferred to a rehab center after a couple months, and spent the rest of the war in that town. While there, I became quite good friends, more like family, with the owner of a local pub. The owner was a veteran of World War I. His wife sat around and watched their daughter-in-law do all the work. I would chip in and help with her son, who was the same age as my son, TE Jr. Feeding and burping her baby kind of gave me an idea of what I was missing, a bittersweet feeling, but somewhat rewarding all the same. The little guy from the pub was Albert Junior. I started calling him Little-A, and the folks that frequented the pub picked up on it. The nickname stuck, and was later passed on to his son. Now his grandson, who we are eagerly waiting to meet, goes by this name.

A couple of years ago I read a fantastic novel. The setting for the story was a little town in England. The name of the author, and of the town, haunted me until I was able to make the connection between them and part of my Army experience.

When I was reasonably sure my memory served me correctly, I chatted with my twin grandsons, giving them the only names I could remember, and very little else. Those resourceful and razor sharp kids took it upon themselves to further investigate. Their investigation proved fruitful, and resulted in what was happening today. Exactly how they did it all, well, it’s too much for this old man to completely comprehend.

Most of the day I spent telling this story over and over to anyone that would listen. I