Another 1221 story.

It seems like every house we ever lived in was, how can I say this, uh, some what lacking?! I wish I had a picture of 1221 Green Street. The house has been torn down which is too bad as it could have been renovated. My brothers brought this dog home to 1221 Green Street from the orphanage. This was a very unusual animal. It was an African Basenji. This isn't exactly the kind of pet someone in our social circle would own. Grandmother hated that dog. She hated any dog, but especially this one. African Basenji's don't bark. They do, however, moan,howl, wail and yodel. Did I mention they can laugh like a hyena? I remember that dog because it was a very bad dog. You absolutely could not catch that dog if he didn't want to be caught; if he hid under the bed there was no way you could get to him. He could move faster than a fruit fly! Grandmother chased him with a broom one day, and he laughed his head off. I'm not kidding! Poor Grandmother, even the dog didn't give her any respect. It was when the dog jumped through the living room window taking the screen with him that Grandmother had had enough! I can't remember where the dog ended up, but I'm sure he was much happier there, and so was Grandmother. As in other houses we lived in, 1221 was interesting only because Grandmother made them memorable. When you walked into the house our apartment was downstairs. You had to go through a set of French doors to enter into our living room. French doors are made up of many small pane glass panels. Ours was always missing glass panes. Every night Grandmother made a production out of locking the door. If she was going to bed she would say," Don't forget to lock that door!" Well, all you had to do if you were locked out was stick your hand through the empty pane, and unlock the door! Somehow in her mind we were all safe if we slide the latch to the right locking the lock, but not the door. God bless her.