It was a beautiful, warm Sunday. As always, we children had to put on our good Sunday clothes. For me, these were shoes, white knee socks with colorful pompons and the hated sailor suit made of a blue wool, with the big sailor collar that scratched so terribly, and I hated it.
Under threat of a beating if I got them dirty, I was dismissed from the parlor. My friend Heinz was no different. From spring to fall we walked barefoot and on Sundays something like that! We were completely helpless. Then we did what we did most of the time: We stripped down to our shirts and underpants and hid our Sunday clothes in the shed. In the yard we played with marbles, which were small baked clay balls, and slid across the pavement on our knees. The whole village dozed peacefully and quietly in the Sunday afternoon sun. Even the Great Dane Senta lay sleepily in front of her huge doghouse.
The dog had given birth to a litter of puppies a quarter of a year ago, but they were all already sold. The animals had pedigrees, were purebred and the pride and joy of the barber. The last puppy had been picked up only a few days ago, the young male with his thick paws was already almost as big as a terrier. Since the yard was surrounded by buildings, the dogs were allowed to move around freely. They were well behaved and did not bite. But now the expert barber had put the Great Dane on a long chain, fearing that the dog might escape through the yard gate in an unobserved moment to look for her lost cubs.
We had completely forgotten about Senta and were engrossed in our game of marbles. Suddenly the Great Dane stood over us. I felt the warm, still somewhat swollen mammary of the dog against my head. Unexpectedly, the Great Dane grabbed Heinzchen and dragged him into the hut. Only after quite a while did she come out and calmly lay down in front of the entrance. I was stiff with fright. After a very, very long pause for breath, I screamed bloody murder. Our mothers startled out of their midday rest, rushed into the yard, and shrieked hysterically when they realized Heinzchen was missing and probably dead and mangled in the doghouse.
The unnatural noise in the middle of Sunday’s rest had also startled the expert hairdresser. As fast as his wooden leg would allow, he rushed into the yard. He had immediately grasped the situation, whistled Senta at heel and Heinzchen out of the doghouse, frightened and still a little damp from the dog’s tongue, but completely unharmed. When the initial fright had subsided and Heinzchen was healthy and unharmed among us, our mothers noticed that we were not wearing any Sunday clothes. Except for Senta, everyone found this strange. 𝓣𝓸 𝓑𝓮 𝓒𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓾𝓮𝓭…
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