Sir Dee-O-Gee, The Dog Who Saved My Life

By Angel Dunworth

Anna Saint Anne is an elderly widow. Disabled and disenchanted with her age, she spends all of her days staring out the window... When her young grandson surprises his Grandma with a present.... A huge brown and white pit-bull, named Sir Dee-O-Gee, the laughter and love that grows between the enormous, ever-smiling dog, and his elderly owner, will bring a giggle or two to the reader. The moving story explores life outside of ourselves. Sir Dee-O-Gee, is an awesome addition to any book collection.

Award-wining poet and artist, Angel Dunworth, writes on aging, disability, mourning and a return to society in this quirky thought-provoking book. She openly advocates the Animal Defense Leagues’ Seniors for Seniors program, saying, “It is very important to be able to adopt a dog, especially if you’ve become a shut-in. It’s a simple way to provide not only well-needed company but also perfect love. An animal’s reliance on us can quickly go from mandatory to miraculous.”

Dunworth lives in San Antonio, with her husband, who she is quoted as saying, “Is the love of my life.”

Dedication: This book is dedicated to the grandchild who cares. You who listen to the stories of the elderly, looks at pictures, play cards. You who gift your time to help another, and truly cares about quality of life, this book is for you.

You make all of the difference in the world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Erin Go Bragh Publishing
• Release date: Jul 5, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215747810

Angel Dunworth

Angel Dunworth was born in Rail Road, Pennsylvania and has been trying to write since she could pick-up a crayon. She grew up in Florida and has had poetry published in Amvets newspaper. She has also won such awards as Best New Poet and Editor's Choice Award for poetry. This short story collection finds her living happily in San Antonio, Texas with her daughter and husband.I am proud to dedicate this book to Rev. Laughing Bear Jones, in loving memory for all of the life lessons you helped me learn. I further dedicate this book to every really good kid... and yes, to all the lovely bad ones.For more information about any of these issues, worksheets and printables, or additional help in getting the conversation started, visit our website at www.StreetLightHalo.com

Book preview

Sir Dee-O-Gee

By Angel Dunworth

This book is a work of fiction. Places, events, and situations in this story are purely fictional.

Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

© Copyright 2023 Angel Dunworth.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the author.

ISBN-13: 978-1-956581-28-7

Canyon Lake, TX

www.ErinGoBraghPublishing.com

Dedication

This book is dedicated to the grandchild who cares.

You who listen to the stories of the elderly, look at pictures, play cards.

You who gift your time to help another, and truly care about

quality of life…

This book is for you.

You make all of the difference in the world.

Table of Contents

1 Mr. Finchley’s Hedges

2 The Kibble Crisis

3 The Ghost

4 Blooming Big

5 The Runaway

6 Escape Artist

7 There Was A Farmer Who Had A Dog…

8 And Bingo Was His Name-O

9 The Confidant

10 Mr. Finchley’s Apology

11 O Most Holy

12 Dark and Light

13 Let ‘em Sweat

14 Sum of Parts

About the Author

About the Dog (Sir)

CHAPTER 1

Mr. Finchley’s Hedges

My body isn’t mine anymore. Was it kidnapped by tardy aliens, who forgot to return it? Was there a fairy somewhere who needed my arms for a school project? Perhaps some Ninja spy snuck into my house as I was napping and took away my leg muscles. Did a wizard of olden time curse me with shortness of breath? Is there a goblin somewhere that wiles away my thinning hair?

These are very silly thoughts. Yet they are thoughts that I entertain every day while staring out my window at Mr. Finchley’s hedges. It’s all I do anymore. What a terribly lonely business it is too. Most days it seems that my body isn’t connected to my brain. It has betrayed me.

My fingers are an odd shape now. They remind me of giant spiders with bony knees. Each fingertip seems to be pointing in a different direction. Maybe skeletal is a better word, because a skeleton’s hand, just like mine, can’t grasp anything properly. Can not, in and of itself, open a jar, or a cheese wrapper. For that you need muscles, which also seem to have fled long ago.

No friends visit me. No chatting at my age. There is never a neighbor who joins me to watch a show on television. I don’t go out dancing. I haven’t had a knock at my door of church ladies wanting to play a game of bridge or gossip over cucumber sandwiches. No friends, no fun, nothing to look forward to.

The only time I have company is when my grandson, Ellis comes over. Other days I am too predictable, sitting, staring. Even though he loves me, my grandson can’t see the dark cloud that hovers above my head and leaves darkness in my heart. He doesn’t know old age yet. He is still as new and bright as freshly cut grass. I, on the other hand, stare all day long at nothing. Nothing changes. Nothing moves. Since my husband, lovingly called Pops died, nothing’s left.

I should like to tell you a good fairy story, with all the trimmings. I wish I could tell you a tale about Santa or a pumpkin ghost… a chronicle of pirates in fine colors or a land of magical, flying cats. It would be amazing to weave such wondrous adventures! Yet, I have grown old enough and wise enough to know, that the only story I can lend you is my own. Let me revise that… not just my own. This story also belongs to a huge dog named, Sir Dee-O-Gee.

My name is Anna Saint Anne. It’s a silly name to be sure. It wasn’t an easy name to grow-up with either. The kids in my class poked a lot of fun at it, saying my mother had no imagination. Strangely, it didn’t bother me, being taunted. I figured it happens to everyone eventually. Being mad about it wouldn’t stop others poking fun, and so I refused to get angry about it.

It doesn’t really matter because I always liked my name. When I was little, my mother told tales about my Great Grandma Anna for whom I am a namesake. She would say, She was tough. She was a welder during the war. She helped make ships and airplanes!

Although I had no idea what a welder was, I never knew anyone in my whole life who could make a plane. Therefore, she was a sort of super-hero. (Seems a fine name when looking at it like that.) It’s a personal joke as well. Now that I, myself am a grandmother, whenever I’m feeling strong, I tell myself that I am Super Nanna Anna!

Sadly this Super me is not around much anymore. At my age everything seems hard. To say it fairly, it is clear I never gave into