Village Creek was the biggest ‘river’ I’d ever
crossed in my young life and at flood stage it
 |
| Open field in Kennedale |
gave me respect for the power of
swiftly moving water. In those days the forested area made me think I saw fairies
or even Native Americans moving stealthy through the shadowed green. And one
exciting day another car was motionless in the narrow two lane track; as Dad
pulled carefully around the vehicle, the reason for its position was apparent.
What appeared to be a Great Dane was standing with its front feet on squarely the
hood peering through the windshield with a look of joy only a puppy can have at
the amused driver. Village Creek road was one of those mystical lanes we traveled
along on our way somewhere else.
