The Death of Tippy

Tippy loved to pal around with my brother and sisters and me. His name came from the white tip on his black tail. When I see border collies with their silky black hair and tan markings around their faces, I immediately think of Tippy.
Border collies are alert, active dogs with a strong herding instinct. They're easy to train and very obedient, wanting to please their owners.
At age five, I started school, making the walk down the long driveway with my brother and sister to take the bus. The younger girls were just toddlers, so they stayed at home.
One day, Tippy followed the three of us down the driveway. We had to cross the two-lane highway to wait for the bus. Tippy tried to follow us, but we kept telling him to "go home!" He couldn't understand why his playmates were driving him away. He didn't want to leave us, until we threw some small rocks at him.
Finally he got the message that he wasn't wanted and with his tail low he started across the road for home. Just then, a car swooped over the hill and struck Tippy. It didn't stop. Tippy was knocked to the side of the road by the impact. We knew by the stillness of his body that he was dead. Being farm children, we knew the facts of life. We stood there, shocked and sobbing.
In a few minutes, the bus pulled up to collect us. The driver asked us if that was our dog. My brother, a third grader, pulled himself together to say "yes, it was."
I don't remember the rest of that day, but even fifty years later, remnants of guilt remain. Poor Tippy, happily frisking down the driveway with his childhood buddies, and a few minutes later we chased him into the path of a car. I can tell myself that it was just bad timing, but it's hard to let go of that feeling.
Photo: I wish I had a photo of Tippy, but he looked similar to this.

Story ID:	3748
Written by:	Virginia Allain (bio, link, contact, other stories)
Organization:	none
Story type:	Family Memories
Location:	Madison Kansas USA
Year:	1953
Person:	Virginia Martin and our dog