On those nights when I find myself alone in the Lauderdale Mansion (that would be Monday through Friday, plus Saturday and Sunday), I often amuse myself by digging through the trunks in the attic, looking for loose coins and poring over the old scrapbooks compiled by my ancestors. Sometimes those contain the most fascinating stories — such as this account, reported in a December 1941 issue (I don’t have the exact date) of The Commercial Appeal, about the life-saving exploits of a mutt named Poochie.
Poochie, according to the paper, was a mongrel, one of seven puppies born to a mother who was a rat terrier and whose father was a German shepherd, so it’s safe to say he was not a particularly beautiful dog. His owner was a fellow named Faber Becton, who lived in north Memphis on King’s Road, and he gave away the other pups, keeping the ugliest for his own. The newspaper reported, “Like a weed in a garden, Poochie grew and thrived. The Becton children loved Poochie and he returned their love.”
Well, one day Becton took Poochie with him to the Mississippi River, just above Memphis, to train him as a pointer. Just as they arrived at the banks, they encountered a tragedy: A group of men and boys who had foolishly tried to swim in the Mississippi were being pulled under by the strong current. Here’s how The Commercial Appeal tells the story:
