Readers' Stories
Mail carriers and dogs, sent in from all over
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Since I put the Field Guide up, I've gotten letters from carriers, retired carriers, dog owners, and one or two people who I believe were writing on behalf of their dogs. Here are some of my favorites, printed with permission. My replies are underneath, in the brown.

From Hugh Lundy, Pennsylvania

I carried a rural route for twenty-nine years before I retired, and I had a farm collie on that route named Tip who met my car at the end of his lane every day, rain or snow, for eleven years. He'd walk alongside the car to the box, wait while I put the mail in, then walk alongside me back to the road. The family told me later that on Sundays and holidays he'd go down to the end of the lane at the usual time and sit there a while anyway, then come home. When Tip died, they wrote me a note and put it in their own mailbox for me to find. I still have it.

Hugh, that one got me. I'd put Tip in the Welcoming Committee, but I think he was really a colleague. — L.P.

From Helen Herron, Tennessee

Our dachshund, Fritz, hears the mail truck a quarter mile off and barks the whole time it takes to come up the road. Then, the minute the carrier stops at our box, he goes quiet and wags. He loves her. He just has to tell everybody she's coming first. She brings him a biscuit every Friday. I think he knows which day is Friday.

A Doorbell with a heart of gold, Helen, and a dachshund besides, which goes a long way toward restoring my faith in the breed. Please give Fritz my regards. — L.P.

From Richard Coots, Kentucky

When I was about eight, our dog Buster chased the mail truck every day for a year. One day the carrier stopped, got out, opened the door of the truck and said, "All right, Buster, get in." Buster stopped dead in the road, looked at him, turned around and walked home. He never chased the truck again. I think he only wanted to chase it if it was running away.

That carrier was a wise man, Richard. I may try it myself, though not on the Jack Russell. He'd get in. — L.P.

From Ernestine Shaw, Ohio

I'm writing about our letter carrier, not our dog. Our old shepherd mix, Lady, was very sick last winter, and for her last few weeks she couldn't get up the porch steps. Our carrier noticed. Every day he came up the walk, he'd stop and kneel down by her bed on the porch and talk to her for a minute before he put the mail in the box. He never said anything to us about it. We only knew because our neighbor saw him. After Lady was gone, he asked about her, and he was sad too. I don't even know his last name. I wanted somebody to know.

Ernestine, I'm so sorry about Lady. I don't know your carrier, but I know him, if you see what I mean. A lot of us would do the same. Thank you for telling me. — L.P.

From Thomas Cline, Oregon

Our Newfoundland, Barney, weighs more than I do and is terrified of the mail slot. Not the carrier. He loves the carrier. Just the slot. When the mail comes through it, he backs all the way down the hall and hides behind the couch until it stops moving. Then he comes out and carries each letter, very gently, to my wife. We've had to ask our relatives to stop sending birthday cards with money in them, because by the time Barney's finished delivering them, they're a little damp.

A new family entirely, Thomas. I'm going to call it the Assistant Carriers. I'd hire Barney tomorrow, damp envelopes and all. — L.P.

From a reader in Arizona, who asked me to use only her first name, Theresa

I'm a new carrier, eight months. I read your owners' section and printed it out and gave it to the three houses on my route where the dogs worry me. Two of the three started keeping the dogs in at mail time. The third one said "He doesn't bite." I'm holding on to the copy for next time.

Good for you, Theresa. Two out of three in your first year is a fine record. Keep your satchel between you and the third one, and keep your biscuits handy, and welcome to the trade. — L.P.

I read every letter that comes in, and I'll add more here as they come. If your dog is on a route somewhere, tell me which family you think it belongs in. If it doesn't fit any of them, so much the better. A field guide ought to keep growing.