Nicky The Dog

Every boy should have a dog when growing up. 

I lived in Camden, NJ with my mom and grandfather until 1970, when my grandpop, Carmen Corvino died at age 78. It was then that my mom decided to move in with the man who would become my beloved stepfather, Anthony Logandro, at his small three-bedroom home in Audubon Park, NJ. Mom got me a dog a few years prior, a cute little Beagle puppy we named Skippy. But the poor thing got out of the yard and was hit and killed by a car on Decatur Street not long after we got him. 

It was a devastating moment for a little boy, and I remember crying my eyes out on my mom's shoulders for a good long time. Grandpop also cried because he had come to love the dog, too, in the short time we had him.

When we made the move to Audubon Park, I was approaching high school age. It was a bit of a pain, because my high school was right ON Decatur Street in Camden, literally a two-minute walk for me. Now I had to bum a ride to get to school. That was the down-side.

On the plus side, my stepdad had two dogs he had gotten a few years earlier. One was a chubby spaniel named Chipper, and the other was a spry mutt improbably named Nicky by Nancy, my step-sister. 

Two Nicky's in the house, one with four legs and one with two. Quite the comical conundrum to explain to friends and relatives who visited us!

Nicky The Dog was smart as a whip and a bit of a wanderer. He was known for escaping the yard and traveling all the way over to the Audubon Shopping Center, just under a mile away. Nicky had to cross busy Nicholson Road to make it over there, but damned if he didn't ALWAYS look both ways to make sure he could cross! It was common for the mailman to find him over there and bring him home. He was quite the social butterfly.

He was a chewer in his puppy days, according to my step dad. He did some damage to a couch, and my father finally just put the thing out in the yard, pointed to it, and told the dog to have at it.

Boy did he.

When my stepdad got home from work, the yard looked like it had snowed in the middle of summer. The entire expanse of the small yard was covered with the white innards of the couch, which sat in the corner of the yard like a skeleton.

Did I mention this dog was smart?

One day, the old man brought home a bag of steak bones from the Rustler Steakhouse in Fairview, where we often ate. It was a good sized bag, and when he dropped the bones in the yard, the robust Chipper hovered over them with the intend of defending her prize to the death. As I watched this, Nicky went into a barking fit and stormed over to the other side of the yard as if he was about to be attacked by a pack of wild dogs. His hysterical barking drew Chipper away from the aforementioned bag of bones, and she rushed over there to help him stave off the attack.

But there was nothing there. When Chipper reached the other side of the yard, my little buddy calmly walked back over to the bag of bones and claimed it as his own. Chipper was NOT pleased, but Nicky had gained the upper hand in an astonishing display of sheer reasoning. Score one for the little guy.

So Nicky and I became the best of friends. I spent my years between the ages of about 12 and 17 hanging out with him. He would be with us on the ballfield across the street when my stepdad hit me flies to shag. During that time, I grew from a short, 140-pound waif into a 6'2", long legged outfielder. Yeah, I could really chase 'em down.

We also would spend a lot of time down at Peters Creek just down the street walking the shoreline, occasionally fishing for carp and catfish. Our favorite past-time was strolling down there in the deep fogs that occasionally enveloped the area. I could not see more than an arm's length in front of me as Nicky and me explored and enjoyed the sheer quiet and solitude of not knowing where we were. It was absolutely ethereal.

Time passes quickly. Chipper up and died one night in the late 70s or early 80s while dad was bowling. She died right in her favorite spot, right next to the old man's lounge chair. Perfectly fitting. When they replaced the rug, there was a big oil stain on the wood floor below it right where Chipper spent her entire life.

When I turned 20 in 1977, I got married and moved away. Nicky, bless him, continued to hang in there, though age started to take its toll on my good buddy. I would see him at our softball games (my stepdad never missed a game) and when I visited. In about 1980, we moved to 2 Eagle Road, right next door to mom and dad. But by this point I was submerged in the life of a bread-winner, and I just did not have the time to spend with my friend.

Now in the mid-1980s, my dear friend was ancient. You weren't really sure if he knew where he was, who YOU were, what he was doing, where he was going, etc. It's the standard story of getting old, I guess. 

Then, on an evening in 1985 or thereabouts, my dad called me over and told me that Nicky was dying. Neither of us wanted to hear it. Me and the old man stood and cried over the little guy as he passed into the void. I still miss him to this very day. Just like I miss the old man and mom, who both died on January 2, one year apart, in 1995 and 1996. Mom was 76, dad 83.

But Nicky, he certainly lived a good, long life. By my reckoning, he had to have been either 17 or 18 years old when we had to say goodbye, and that's one hell of a life span for a canine. We were really lucky to have him for that long, and I still to this very day think of him and the times we shared when I was just a boy learning how to be a man, with his kind help.

Sleep well, my dear buddy. See you soon.