The Dog Who Knew Baseball

By the time he gets the ball in his mouth and runs to first, the batter is home on a single and having a beer.

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Talking or eating, Skid Kelly never gave his mouth much rest.

“Stella,” he said, as his fork speared another lunch lamb chop, “today I will prove for all time that I’m the best semipro pitcher and the best hitter ever seen in these parts.”

Stella, who at 28 had consistently failed to prod her beau into a formal commitment to matrimony, was more given to tart comment than soothing pronouncements. “Ty Cobb must be out of his mind with jealousy.”

Skid—a nickname derived from a nose shaped like a playground slide—responded only to what suited his hearing. “I should never have given up professional baseball.”

“Wasn’t it the other way around?”

“The Dog Who Knew Baseball”<br />Lewis s. Salsburg<br />Fall 1971
“The Dog Who Knew Baseball”Lewis S. SalsburgFall 1971

Skid kept to his one-track mind while continuing to feed his slight physique. “Today, starting at three o’clock. I am going to win the Championship of the State for the old home town. Pass the ketchup.”

“There will be eight other players on the field, modest one.”

“Me and Pepper could do it alone.”

“My dear Kelly. Your Pepper is still a dog . . .”

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  1. Got a dog story for you.
    Having just been given a mostly-collie mutt named “Sam,” 9-year-old, Nicky, decided to teach his new pet to “ask for” his meals.
    Before feedings, Nicky would hold the dog’s dish just out of reach, and bark loudly several times.
    His theory was that the dog would soon learn to “speak” for himself.
    After spending about two weeks on this ritual, the boy received quite a shock–Sam refused to eat, until Nicky barked.


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