A few years back, my son Chris and I stayed busy helping Jim Hardy keep up the maintenance on his rental properties here in Jax. These houses weren’t always in the best of neighborhoods. Like always, we carried Sparky with us.
45th and Moncrief, Myrtle Ave., Brentwood Ave. just names on the street sign. If the homes needed repair, it meant a paycheck when we were finished. Two guys tried to steal a generator off the back of my truck when we were working on 7th and Florida. Sparky was lying under the truck in the shade. I keep him on a 12 foot chain. Believe me, that’s the way he likes it. When he’s off the chain, look out.
These two fellas made it to the back of the truck, but Sparky wouldn’t let them out. They dropped the still running generator and climbed out over the cab of the truck. Fast as they were, they could probably have played in the NFL.
To Sparky, it’s a game. He watches people walk up close, then once they cross that imaginary line he pounces. He’s gotten me more times than I can count and I’m the one who feeds him.
Mr. Hardy lives in Panama City. If you haven’t ever been there, that place is something else. The tourist shops sell ball caps with pony tails. I guess so that bald men like me can walk around with hair. There is Panama City and Panama City Beach. In Panama City, Mr. Hardy owned a few rental houses that he wanted Chris and I to fix up for him.
Mr. Hardy lived in a mansion in the nicer section of town. He and his lovely wife insisted that we stay with him while we did the repairs. They took us out to eat some place different every night.
Mr. Jim said that he was in a bad spot when he asked for our help. He paid his tenants to resheet rock a house they were living in. They spent the money didn’t do the job and complained to HUD that Mr. Hardy was renting them an uninhabitable place. (Just so they couldn’t be evicted). Keep in mind that these people were homeless and Mr. Hardy offered them a place to live if they would live right, do the repairs.
He was willing to pay.
Part of our deal with Mr and Mrs Hardy was that we needed to bring Sparky and my cats with us. I couldn’t leave them at home. Bonnie was visiting her family in Georgia. They welcomed us with open arms.
Sparky seemed to enjoy being tied to the tree in front of this million dollar mansion. He barked at all the french poodles, lapso apsos and pterodactyls, oh I mean Pomeranians. The cats? Oh I let them run loose in the garage. Soon they were right at home.
The neighborhood where we were working reminded me of Springfield. In fact, that was the name of the area, Springfield. It looked just the same. When we arrived, the tenants didn’t exactly act like they were glad to see us. Chris and I forgot that they were on Central time and that our biological clocks were still on Eastern time. When we showed up for work at our 7 AM, they didn’t seem too pleased. Especially the couple that were still in bed when I was hanging the sheet rock over their heads.
Sparky maintained his vigilance, guarding the truck. Chris and I had hammers, knives and screw guns. We managed to force our way through the house going from room to room. After the second day, the residents begged us to please wait until 7 o’clock their time, to start work.
The house we were working on was right across the street from the local flop house. It was a den of everything that goes on in the hood. As the sun rose in the sky, Sparky would seek the shade underneath the truck, biding his time, waiting.
As the sun rose in the sky, the people in the neighborhood would begin to crowd the streets, walking back and forth. Sparky would bide his time, just waiting for one of the street walkers to get in range. When they did, you never heard such noise. Sparky just walked up behind one gal and tore a chunk out of her rear end. You would think that would settle the issue, but oh no, she wanted to argue. Well, when you argue with Sparky, it is usually one sided.
I heard someone calling my name, “Hey Asshole, you with the dog. He just bit me. This is my corner. I’ve been walking this corner for the past 5 years.” I walked out to the truck, immediately feeling sorry for Sparky. Oh, you bit that? I approached the “lady” and told her that Sparky ain’t been here but for about 2 to 3 hours and he says it’s his corner. When she started to rub her fanny and complain some more, I told her, “Don’t tell me, tell him,” and went back inside to work.
Mr. Hardy would complain to us every night over dinner that he wished he knew how to get rid of those people. He said he was just trying to help them get off the street. I promised to help him if I could.
I started walking Sparky through the house every morning on the chain, just to make sure everyone was up. I didn’t want to have to put up with any guff. You’d be surprised how quick some people can move. One by one, the residents started finding places to live that they liked better. There were only supposed to be 3 adults living there, but every time I used the skill saw, I would see a new face pop up here and there.
Hanging sheet rock in a house with people living in it can be rough, not just to us but the to the residents as we walked past them, over them and sometimes through them if they were in our path. The last couple were determined to stick it out. That is until we started sanding the ceilings. It looked like it was snowing in there.
After a few minutes of coughing and gagging they asked if we could let up long enough for them to gather their belongings. I told them sure but I want the key to the door first.
The neighborhood discontents were gathered on the front porch of the dope house across the street. Everyone kept staring at us and pointing fingers like they were shooting a pistol or something. I told them if they didn’t like Sparky, call the cops, he’s registered and has had his shots. The streetwalker got her a new corner. After we loaded the tools and were ready to go. I walked Sparky on his chain across the street and onto the porch. It looked like a Chinese fire drill. I guess you could say Sparky said that was his porch.
No one was around to argue.
Mr. Hardy was grinning from ear to ear when I gave him back the keys to the house and told him it was empty. Mr. Jim always paid us pretty good, when he wanted to give us a bonus, I declined and told him that Sparky deserved all the credit, he should get a bonus.
Mrs Hardy gave Sparky the turkey she was cooking in the oven and we went to Little Ceasar’s. He bragged about it all the way back to Jax., barking at everyone traveling in the other lane.
Every boy should have a dog like Sparky, once in their lives.
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Mike is a writer now living in Atlantic Beach, and loves to tell stories about growing up in and around the First Coast. He also love animals …
