My mother, Mary, is one of eight children. For a family of ten all under one roof life on Prospect Street in Stamford, Connecticut, wasn’t easy. When I inquired where it was located she told me “the wrong side of the tracks”. I decided to take a look and, well, she was right: it wasn’t in the best part of town. My mother always said they didn’t have much but what they had was enough.
Still, life was good. My grandmother, Fanny, was a stay at home mom while my grandfather, Daniel, worked as a brakeman for the railroad. He assisted the conductor, switched tracks when necessary and applied the brakes to the train when needed. His job was especially important because he worked overnight. My grandparent’s lifestyle bled into my mother’s own adult life when she married my father. He was a night worker who drove trucks.
When residing in the “bad part of town”, being a woman with eight children and not having your husband home at night in the 1940s was a potentially dangerous situation. Luckily, one day they brought home a new member of the family of the four-legged kind that would provide a little security to the household.
Queenie was a female, smooth-haired, Whippett-Terrier mix. She was white with a black saddle and very lean. She quickly became the family’s best friend. My mother once said she bit Queenie and the dog bit her back. That’s what she got for biting a dog, she said. Grandmother Fanny felt much safer with a dog in the home. This way the dog could alert them to anything or anyone who shouldn’t be hanging around. She slept better at night because of it.
When my mother was about eight years old she remembers Fanny giving Daniel a kiss goodbye and closing the door as he went off to work with his lunchbox. That night everything was normal. Doors were locked, kids were in bed sleeping and Queenie was snoozing in the living room.
Around midnight a man who had a bit too much to drink (or as my mother said “he was loaded”) mistook their house as someone else’s he knew. Could have been his own. No one really knows for sure. He was pounding on the door. Queenie started barking. Fanny told the man to go away but he persisted. He was yelling for the door to be opened and pounding the door even harder. As you can imagine all nine residents were very frightened. So Fanny did what she thought best.
She opened the door and shouted “Get ‘em, Queenie!” and the dog went after the man!
She could see the man run away as fast as he could but Queenie chased him across the street then across the ball field (which is now the interstate). Fanny lost sight of her in the dark. She anxiously waited for the dog to return. The kids were worried she would never come back.
But come back she did.
With the seat of the man’s pants in her mouth!
That dog was heralded in the house that night as the true “queen” she was! “Good dog!” and “Yay Queenie!” were heard over and over as they petted her in gratitude for the tremendous deed she had done. She wasn’t sure what all the attention was about but she was certainly happy with all the love she was receiving.
While my mother was at school the next day, Daniel returned from the night shift. Fanny told him what had happened. He couldn’t believe it! Who would have thought the little dog would be such a big protector. The man never returned and no one ever bothered their house again.
