Recovered Memory: The Littlest Hobos

So a weird/cool/unusual thing happened to me this week. Whilst perusing my Facebook feed, I came across a link to a story about kid TV shows with difficult-to-explain premises. As I read the list, smiling knowingly, one brought me to a dead stop. The show being discussed was a Canadian series about a dog, a German Shepherd, named The Littlest Hobo.

Memory Alpha:
When I was a kid, five or six years old, and living in low-income housing projects, I attended a little stage show with a trainer showing off his dogs, all German Shepherds. I think the performance was held in the parking lot of the local Fisher Fazio supermarket. A neighbor, Mr. Smoot, went with me because getting to the store meant crossing major thoroughfares and I was far too young to do so unaccompanied.

In the course of the performance, the trainer asked for volunteers to come up on stage and work with the dogs. To my delight, I was chosen. One of the dogs met me at the side of the stage, took me by the hand and led me to center stage. The trainer was giving me and the dog instructions, but I remember being only marginally aware of him. I was onstage WITH A DOG! As a kid with allergies who wasn't allowed to have pets, I was thrilled. The only other thing I remember about the show was that the dog untied my shoe and my laces were kind of soggy afterward. It was, perhaps, the best moment of my life up to that point. My reward for getting onstage? A photo of the dogs.

After the show, the trainer sold and autographed photos and answered questions. I asked Mr. Smoot if he would wait while I got my photo signed. He agreed and I walked up to the trainer. After a short wait, I handed him my newest prized possession. He signed it and then handed to another kid, who promptly scampered off with it. I couldn't believe my eyes! I tried to get the trainer's attention and explain my dilemma, but he completely ignored me. I went to Mr. Smoot and asked him to intercede. To his credit, Mr. Smoot tried, but the trainer deliberately looked past him, effectively shutting down any hope I had.

I went home and sobbed my heart out, sure that I would never have such a unique experience again. Using thick, ruled notebook paper, I wrote out the entire saga in a sort of proto-journal, promising myself to never forget the dog I befriended, the cruelty of the trainer or the evil of the kid who made off with my photo.

Of course, time healed that wound. Very few of my childhood possessions followed me into adulthood and the journal disappeared long ago. Although I never forgot the experience, over the intervening 40 years, I managed to forget the name of the canine performers.

Until I read that Facebook posting!

The dogs were called The Littlest Hobos! I had no idea that there had been a TV series, probably because it was produced and shown in Canada and never made it to Ohio, pre-cable, pre-internet. A quick Google search and a review of the Wikipedia page and my memories were confirmed: trainer Charles (Chuck) P. Eisenmann often took his trained (he would have said educated) German Shepherds on personal appearance tours in the U.S. The original series ran in the mid-1960s, right about the time I would have encountered the troop.

I cannot say for certain that the photo at the top of this posting is the one I held for those few, fleeting moments. However, of the photos I've found online, the name "Thor" or "Thorn" resonates with me. I have a friend with a shepherd named Thor, so the synapses could be crossed.

And so, I now accomplish what my younger self attempted: I have documented that cool, unique experience and rekindled its memory. I can't say for certain that this experience created my lifelong love of dogs, but it definitely figures into the equation.

The Littlest Hobos: the heroes of my childhood. Welcome back!!