Waaaayyyy back in the early days of Darling Dog, like 2 years ago, I started thinking about all of the dogs that I had owned or known well over the years. Yes, I am aware that count is high…dogs and years. One of those sweet little pups was a tiny little schnauzer named Kris.

Kris (Kringle) had been a Christmas gift to my grandparents given by my aunt Gail a year or two before I was born. As it happens, my backyard backed up to Meme and Grandaddy’s. This was wonderful for a mischievous kid because you had multiple houses to destroy!

Remember when I said Kris was a sweet little pup? Well, it turns out that whiskered little German monster was a full-fledged member of the Third Reich. His great-grandsire had to be one of Hitler’s SS attack dogs. I’d have rather been tossed into a pit of rattlesnakes than have Kris spot me before I spotted him.

And the only thing he disliked more than people, was people in kid form.

So naturally, we played his game. My cousin Ford and I made it our mission to outsmart that dog. Not literally tortured, but we came close – with some pretty devious pranks. The old bait and switch. The tennis ball down the stairs and a quick door slam.

My grandparents had one of those fancy built-in vacuum systems with a hose in every room (kids of the ’70s and ’80s remember). Those things weren’t just for cleaning. They were our secret weapons when Kris had us cornered. He couldn’t stand the screaming roar of the hidden Hoover.

Of course, Kris got his revenge. He always did.

One afternoon I was lying flat on a lounge chair under the hummingbird feeder, butterfly net in hand, when he spotted me through the glass and let loose that banshee bark. Not only did he scare away my quarry, but Meme came running. And I got caught red-handed. My fanny paid the price.

That one was almost as bad as the time he blew my cover while I was “fishing” for Meme’s prized koi. I had my eye on the big multicolored one, but after Kris gave me away, that fish lived to a ripe old age.

To be clear, Kris wasn’t just my nemesis. He was everyone’s problem, Meme included.

She’d feed him the finest treats, which he devoured without suspicion. Little did he know they were laced with tranquilizers. A proper society lady couldn’t have a shrieking Schnauzer ruining her bridge game.

I always knew the coast was clear when Meme’s parlor was thick with Virginia Slims smoke and the Bloody Mary mix and orange juice were sitting out on the counter.

Such a quiet, polite little pup, according to all her friends. A regal prince… ha!

It was only fitting that Ford and I laid him to rest in the corner of my great-grandmother B Ma’s yard, right there on King Street.

For all his fury, Kris earned his place in our family lore. Every good Southern story needs a villain, after all.