Diseased Relationships

Picking up from the October 7, 2025 edition...

During supper the next week, Daddy seemed quieter than usual. As we all finished and pushed back from the table, he said, “David, I’ve got some bad news.”

I bowed my head and fixed my eyes on my empty plate.

“Diane Johnson’s father told me some dogs got into his hog lot and killed seven of his baby pigs. And he’s positive King was one of them.”

My chest felt like it was going to cave in. I couldn’t breathe. Closing my eyes, I dreaded hearing what would come next.

My daddy’s deep bass voice continued, “We’re going to have to put him down.”

His words shattered my composure. “No, no, no!” I cried. Tears streamed down my face. “You can’t! You just can’t! What will I do without King? Please, no!”

I look pleadingly at Daddy, praying to see a flicker of hope.

Looking at mother for support, Daddy said, “I don’t know what else to do.”

Was there a chance of reprieve?

“What if I put him on a chain and keep him chained up all the time? Why wouldn’t that work?” I asked.

“That always seemed like a cruel way for a dog to live,” he answered. “But he’s your dog. If that’s what you want to do to him…”

Joy dried up my tears like a chamois cloth in a puddle of water.

“Thank you! Thank you! King won’t mind. He’s getting lazy anyway. He doesn’t like to go running around with me like he used to,” I lied.

King spent the rest of that summer and early fall on a chain.

One day when I got home from school, I went out to feed him. Lunging against his chain, he begged to be set free.

“You’ve been good for so long you wouldn’t dare get in trouble would you King?” I asked

Seeming to recognize that freedom was within his grasp, King barked excitedly.

“I’m going to turn you loose for just a little while. But then I’m tying you back up before Daddy gets home.”

I barely unsnapped his chain before he was off like a bullet, running until he was out of sight.

Two days passed without me seeing or hearing him.

That winter, we were raising baby calves on milk bottles, a chore that had to be done every morning and evening.

Carrying the warm bottle one morning, I walked across our frost-covered lawn to feed my calf. Normally, as soon as the calf heard me opening the barn door, he would start bawling. But that morning, he was silent.

Flipping on the light switch, I opened the door to his stall, anticipating him rushing to me in search of the bottle, but nothing happened. In the shadows of one corner of the stall, I spied a dark, inert shape.

You know how you can know something, but you don’t want to admit it; maybe if you ignore it, it won’t be true? I knew my calf was dead.

Squatting beside him, I saw most of his left hind leg has been eaten away by an animal.

Like a lead weight on a fishing line, my heart sank. Not just for my calf, but because I knew what it meant for my best friend. There was no doubt in my mind King did it.

The sludge of dread replaced all the blood in my veins and made every movement an effort as I made my way to the house and finished getting ready to board the school bus.

I didn’t tell anybody about my calf. I just couldn’t do it.

Getting off the bus that afternoon, I found King waiting with his tail wagging. I avoided looking him in the eyes, fearing he might detect my dread.

That evening daddy looked at me with the penetrating eye of a parent and asked, “What’s wrong with you?”

His question pricked my heavy heart and tears began flowing. In between sobs I told him what had happened.

He listened quietly until I finished with the telling. I couldn’t make myself look at him, but I knew that was what he was waiting for me to do.

Lifting my head, I wiped my nose and looked at him.

Calmly he asked, “Are you going to do it, or am I?”

The time for pleading and begging had passed. There were no more chances.

My body shuddered as I drew a breath. Quietly I said, “I’ll do it. He’s my dog.”

With my 410-single-shot shotgun resting in the crook of my arm, I walked death row through the pasture, my best friend at my side on a leash.

Suddenly, I remembered the last scene in the movie “Old Yeller,” when Arliss had to put down Yeller.

When the final moment came, like Arliss, I closed my eyes and pulled the trigger.

I think about my relationship with King when I am listening to someone who’s in a relationship that has turned destructive. Most every relationship begins with excitement, energy and love. Unfortunately, sometimes one of the persons can become so diseased and self-destructive they destroy everyone around them.

Just as surely as my love for King wasn’t going to change him, loving a person is not enough to change them.

Sadly, love does not conquer all.

As important as friendships and marriages are, sometimes putting an end to a diseased relationship is the only way to escape with your life intact.

* Taken from The Wit and Wisdom of David Johnson, Volume I1: The Hairy Catfish Caper.