It seems like a long time ago but was probably only thirty-five years back or so. I was growing up in Fort Smith, Arkansas. My father was doing office work and was always well dressed, especially for the standards of the time and place. He wore suits and wingtips and long-sleeved shirts and, for a while, a fedora. He was an accountant at a furniture factory and he had a small office that was over-air-conditioned and smelled of pipe tobacco and pencil shavings.

The factory was with all the other factories, down near the river that separated that part of Arkansas from that part of Oklahoma. It was bleak there and less than one hundred years ago, there was a federal prison just a few blocks down river and Judge Parker used to hang outlaws that crossed back and forth between civilization and the Indian Nation. The gallows is famous because it was the only federal gallows that served six at a time. The Indian National became Oklahoma and the gallows isn't used for hanging any more but the people in charge keep the gallows painted white for tourists who are waylaid on their way someplace interesting like Tulsa or Memphis where Elvis lived and died. Just on the other side of the river is Moffett, Oklahoma where restless young men who are looking for trouble can gamble, buy beer and find the type of women who trade their charms for money and Moffett, Oklahoma is officially off-limits to military personnel to this day.

Anyway, on his way home from work, Dad would stop and visit with Jack and Effie Crosland. Jack and Dad would smoke a few cigarettes and Effie would feed him a piece of pie left over from the previous evening. She made wonderful pies, pecan pie, black-bottom pie, apple pie, banana cream pie, McKinley pie, ... and cobblers too. Dad was generous with his praise for Effie's pie, more generous than Jack was, so she felt good about Dad eating her pie. And after a piece of pie and a cup of coffee, Dad would come on home.

For a long time, Jack and Effie had a Mexican Chihuahua named Timmy. Now, I don't have much of a sample size to draw on as I've known only one Chihuahua in all my own days, but Timmy was a very high-strung pet. When people came into the house, no matter how many times they had been there before, Timmy would yip and yip and yip and carry on something fierce. At first, it was comical to see such a tiny dog work himself up into such a huge expression of anger, but after a couple of months, it was just annoying and would make my head hurt. Dad liked to tease people, children and pets and liked the fact he could make this dog so mad. So when Timmy would rush at Dad, yipping at the top of his thimble-sized lungs, Dad would make Sudden Threatening Movements. Timmy was tinny but wasn't stupid, and when something that outweighed him by ~260 pounds made Sudden Threatening Movements, Timmy became even more alarmed and agitated and would run away and tremble.

Dad and Jack thought it was funny.

Effie didn't care for it because she was very fond of Timmy.

(A friend of mine who has some time on her hands these days because she's going through chemo is a dog breeder and I've been meaning to ask her to find out why mankind invented the Mexican Chihuahua because I just don't see any use for that dog at all. A mastiff is useful. A sheep dog is useful. A Labrador is useful. But other than yipping, I can't figure out what a Chihuahua is good for and I can't imagine the Almighty making something like that without man's intentions playing some sort of role.)

Anyway, one day, bored by making the same old Sudden Threatening Movements, Dad added a new torment to Timmy's life. When Dad dropped by that afternoon, and Timmy greeted him at the door, Dad took off his fedora, held it by the crown and stood very still, inviting Timmy to come closer and closer. Eventually, Timmy got bold enough set up yipping right beside my father's ankle. Dad closed his right eye and carefully aimed that fedora. His fingers released the crown and that fedora fell so that Timmy was completely covered by the hat. Well, Timmy might have only been agitated before, but once that hat fell on top of him, Timmy became apoplectic. That little dog's entire word became dark and perfumed by the scent of Vitalis. Timmy wanted to be anywhere other than where he was, so he started running.

Of course, from our point of view, it looked like Dad's fedora had become possessed by some crazy, animated spirit. That hat dashed about the floor, crashing into that table leg over there and that chair leg over here and the color television console and, finally, the wood-paneled wall. Dad and Jack laughed so hard Dad couldn't eat any pie that afternoon which was just as well because Effie had a hissy fit and wasn't in the mood to show any kindness towards my father. Of course, Effie's reaction meant that Dad was only even more eager to do the same thing the next day and the day after that too. Especially since it wasn't too hard on his fedora.

But one day ended up being the last day. Years passed and Dad had ensured that these were not easy years for Timmy. One afternoon, Dad stopped by to see Jack and Effie and Timmy ran up to greet him and Dad took off his fedora, and Timmy was yip-yip-yipping and Dad dropped the fedora over Timmy, ...

And, nothing. No yipping. No running around. Nothing. Dad instantly knew that only one thing could have made that dog stop yipping was the gripping of the cold hand of death around that poor little dog's heart. Indeed, that's what happened. Timmy died.

We were still the best of friends with Jack and Effie. Jack and Effie had two boys: Jack and Ricky. Dad taught Ricky how to tie a tie because Jack was an electrician and didn't have to get dressed up for work. Dad taught Ricky how to tie a full Windsor, half Windsor and a four-in-hand. Years later, Ricky got married and we went to watch. He married a Catholic girl which was a Very Big Deal. Jack and Jack's oldest boy, Jack, suffered from manic depression and they had some hard times. I don't know what became of the boy and don't really care to ask, but his dad got help for his manic depression and was OK again until he got diabetes really bad and they had to amputate his legs at the Veteran's Hospital in Little Rock. Jack had been a spotter and a machine gunner in PBYs over the Pacific in World War Two so they took real good care of him even though Little Rock is almost two-and-a-half hours down the highway from where he lived. I came home from wherever I had wandered off to visit him. He died. Effie lived on for a while but died a few years ago. She used to smoke too, like a chimney, so it came as no surprise to me when she started had trouble breathing and it turned out to be emphysema. Their boy Ricky is well dressed runs a couple of department stores named Sanger Harris in Texas and Oklahoma.

After Mom and Dad's divorce, Dad got to keep Jack and Effie for friends. Jack and Effie never got another dog. Dad gave up wearing fedoras when the fashion changed.

And all of this is true.