我的小狗斯齐普

大概是老片子了，不太符合评分。爸爸不让养狗那段挖了个坑，以为有什么难言之隐。好好地打着橄榄球，突然成打棒球了。黑人小男孩挖了个坑，没下文了。镇花跟了宅男屌丝，常年欺负人的坏男孩突然拉主角入伙，走私犯被发现却只是把主角绑起来，这不愧是一部智商略低的儿童片。Skip咬住橄榄球帮助主角得分并让坏孩子赞叹那段简直尴尬症泛滥。Skip头上着实挨了一下铁锨，医生说尽力了，镜头给skip，发现没有伤口没有包扎没有所谓的“尽力了”的处理。球场上明明不是因为心情差，而是因为弱鸡，所以才没打好，所谓的实力差却脾气大，这种主角一点儿都不讨人喜欢。不如把对战争的反思作为主线更能博得眼球。全靠独白撑起一片天，人和狗的感情是非常容易催泪的，选择了这个好主题，却附加了一个烂故事，如果说是因为根据真人真事改编，那么改编得好烂。几个小孩演得不错

我想养像拉布拉多那样的比较聪明的狗狗。。。
看了这个片子，
我就想我曾经养过的小狗嘟嘟了，，，

再看一次，仍然热泪盈眶。
童年时的狗狗，教会你认识爱、友情、死亡，还有很多其他东西。
SKIP就像镇上的一员，人人都爱他。

一个男孩，因为有了一只小狗，童年变得丰富、有趣。
但这绝不仅仅是关于人和狗的友谊，还有一些更深的东西。
Like all dogs, Skip was colorblind.
He made friends easily with people of all races and origins.
以及战争对身心带来的摧残。

看到后面，又泪流满面。
想念短短。

Memory is a funny thing.

Recollections slip in and out and around in time leaving plenty of room to weave and backtrack. and drift and glide.

In my life, I've found that memories of the spirit linger and sweeten long after memories of the brain have faded. My fondest memories are of my childhood days back in Yazoo, Mississippi.

I can still see the town now. Ten thousand souls, and nothing doing.Where the old men sat drowsily in straw-bottom chairs watching the big cars with out-of-state plates whip by.

Drivers hardly knowing and certainly not caring what place this was. There was a war going on then.And it touched our lives every day. War, President Roosevelt reminded us required everybody to make sacrifices. And boy, we did.

The cotton grew tall that year, the summer of 1942, but I sure didn't.
Matter of fact, I stayed so small and puny..l was a target for the neighborhood bullies.

Fortunately, I lived next door to Dink Jenkins Yazoo's best athlete
and favorite son.

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This was a time of large families.Four or five kids, sometimes more.
So needless to say, ours was already unusual what with me being the only child.

My mother was lively and talkative. Certainly didn't fit the housewife mold.

And my daddy....Well, my daddy was stern and verbearing.He was a war veteran and had lost his leg in battle.And from most accounts, it changed him.

Sometimes it seemed that along with that leg he'd also lost a piece of his heart.

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I met him on the day I turned 9. He was just a trembling ball of fur. Scared and shy as I was.

That night, lying in bed before sleep l felt the beating of his heart against my body.And though I didn't know it then, he was to change my life forever.

My dog, Skip. My best and most steadfast friend.

Skip and I instantly became the best of friends.He didn't mind that I was scrawny and shy or that I liked books a whole lot more than football.

It was unconditional love on both our parts.

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You could talk to him as well as you could talk to many human beings. And much better than you could talk to some.

He'd sit down, look you straight in the eye and when he understood you, he'd turn his head sideways.

I watched Skip grow from the puppy who came to me from a farm.into a sleek and dexterous,affectionate dog.

Skip became a true member of the family.We played games together, did household chores.Even my father had to admit Skip was an exceptional dog.

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Because of Skip,I was able to crossthe threshold from childhood to boyhood from being on the outside to finding myself smack-dab in the middle.

He helped open my eyes to the wonders of life.And I got to know the delta like the palm of my hand.Every bend in the road, every slope, every field.It became as familiar to me as grass or sunlight.

But Skip opened my eyes to other things too.

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Skip grew to know Yazoo too. It was a good place to grow up for dog and boy.

Being friendly, he occasionally wandered around town by himself and anyone of any consequence knew who he was.

 One of Skip's favorite spots was my dear old Aunt Maggie's. Her bridge games meant finger sandwiches for the taking. And the strange creature that was her pet was an endless source of one-sided conversation.

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Like all dogs, Skip was colorblind.

He made friends easily with people of all races and origins. The town was segregated back then, but as we know, dogs are a whole lot smarter than people.

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The seasons in our region of America seemed to have minds of their own.

The fields in winter looked so barren that it seemed nothing could ever grow there again like the dark sky would last the rest of the year. Then, magically, spring would come and catch us by surprise every time.

And there were so many surprises that year.

Who'd have thought that my daddy would ever let me play football?Who'd have dreamed that Rivers Applewhite the prettiest girl in town, would let me hold her hand?

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Old Skip had helped me through the struggles of boyhood.

But his job was far from done.

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I almost lost old Skip that day.

Even as he was sleeping on the operating table he was still teaching me.

That day l became a young man.
 
Why, in childhood and youth do we wish time to pass so quickly?
We want to grow up so fast.
 
Yet as adults, we wish just the opposite.

If, as the authorities often declare a dog's life in relation to a human being'scan be calculated by seven human years to his one then Skip was an adult when I was still a boy.

Sometimes it seemed as if he possessed the wisdom of a creature as old as time.

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In remembering moments such as these. l retain the sad, sweet reflection of being an only child and having a loyal and loving dog.

For the struggles of my life of the dangers, toils and snares of my childhood hymns loyalty and love are the best things of al and surely the most lasting.

The day finally arrived for me to move away from home. I was awarded a scholarship to attend Oxford University in England. A long way from Yazoo, Mississippi and a long way from my family and friends.

The dog of your boyhood teaches you a great deal about friendship and love and death.

I was an only child.

He was an only dog.

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Old Skip was and feeble with arthritis but he never lost that old devilish look in his eye. He made my room his own.

Came across an old photo of him not long ago. His little face with the long snout sniffing at something in the air. His tail was straight out and pointing eyes were flashing in some momentary excitement.

He always loved to be rubbed on the back of his neck. And when I did it,he'd yawn, and he'd stretch reach out to me with his paws as if he was trying to embrace me.

I received a transatlantic call one day.

"Skip died"Daddy said.

He and my mama wrapped him in my baseball jacket.They buried him out under our elm tree, they said.

That wasn't totally true, for he really lay buried in my heart.