Susie, the Coal-Mining Dog

Growing up in Coal Country

I grew up in a coal company house, right next to one of the deep mines owned by the company my Daddy worked for. (My big brothers both worked underground, but my dad worked above ground with the mining equipment.)

Looking back, there are many ways in which it was kind of intense to live so close to the mine—our water was horrible, the coal trucks roaring night and day meant that I couldn’t ride a bike and most of my pets got run over, and coal dust covered EVERYTHING in my world.

But when you’re a kid, you, just accept the world around you without question, and the trains, trucks, noise, and tired men in hard hats and coveralls who crossed my yard with each shift change were normal to me.

As mentioned, my pets usually didn’t last long, especially dogs. My family tended to get the kind of dogs who like to chase things and herd things.

Coal trucks are not easy to herd.

But we had a special, smart, and HUGE German Shepherd for several years. Even though he was male, he was named Susie because I was 3 when we got him, and I insisted.

(I’ve posted this pic of me sitting on my porch with my Aunt, Sister-in-Law, and Granny. (My mom’s butt makes a cameo.) You can see the coal tipple and mine in the background. And although you can’t really see him, my dog is sitting next to me.)

A Dog in the Mines

Susie loved to explore, and would disappear into the acres of woods that you’d find when you went out my back door and straight up a steep mountainside. But one day, Susie decided to find out what would happen when he went into the big, black hole near my house that was the mouth of the mine.

When the miners go into a deep mine, they often ride a little train called a man trip. You have to lie down to ride on it, and it takes you into the mountain. (My brother would complain about having to ride lying next to certain miners whose personal hygiene left a bit to be desired.)

But Susie didn’t ride the man trip. Susie walked into the mouth of the mine on Sandlick Creek on his four paws, and discovered that if he walked long enough, he’d come out again on the other side of the mountain. (At another mine, in a place called Colson.)

So this huge, black, scary-looking German Shepherd emerged from the mine, and fortunately, someone who knew my dad recognized the dog. So the miners, being problem-solvers at heart, got Susie into a coal truck and drove him back around the mountain to our house, and dropped him off.

Coal Truck Obsession

Welp, it was on. Susie quite enjoyed getting to ride the big truck. (It was almost as much fun as chasing them and barking at them!) Usually about once a week, my dad would get a call:

“Bob, we’ve got your dog again and we’re bringing him home.”

Susie loved it, and enjoyed his career in mining and coal-truck riding until his untimely demise beneath the wheels of a coal truck. (At least he died happy. And it’s of note that he put a huge dent in the coal truck bumper, which is saying something.)

If dogs go to heaven, I expect Susie will be there to greet me. And I’m pretty sure that, instead of chasing rabbits, he spends his time in eternity running through mountains and riding big trucks.

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