Like most people, I have many memories — both happy ones and sad ones — of past celebrations of just about every major holiday. That is except for Independence Day.

I have no fond childhood memories of celebrating Independence Day — or sad ones, either. That’s because on the farm, July 4 was just another day during the busiest time of the year for farmers. If there were beans to be cultivated, I spent the holiday on a tractor. If there was hay to be baled, I celebrated our nation’s birthday by stacking bales on a wagon or in a hayloft where the temperature often topped 100 degrees.

There was no time for picnics or driving into town to watch the fireworks.

Dad said we could see the fireworks just as well from our front yard as we could driving into town. Dad lied. From the distance of some 15 miles, watching the fireworks at the fairgrounds in Washington Court House was about as exciting as watching fireflies flitting around the back yard. No, it was worse than that. Most years I could not see anything from our yard.

Believe it or not, I was a teenager before I saw a fireworks show live and in person. Prior to that, I had only seen fireworks on television, and watching fireworks on a tiny, black-and-white TV set takes most of the excitement out of it.

My first — and just about only — Independence Day memory came when I was an adult working in Bowling Green. My wife and I had planned something exciting for that holiday. I don’t remember what it was, but I do remember it involved the entire family, which then consisted of wife, German shepherd and me.

But before the fun could begin, I had to work. Such is the fate of a young reporter working on a newspaper that published every day but Christmas. Sooner or later, you were going to have to pull a holiday shift, and it was my turn on that Independence Day in the early 1970s.

Pulling into the driveway after my holiday shift, Bacoose, the family dog, greeted me like my arrival was the best thing that had happened to her in her entire life. She excitedly jumped onto the fence as I got out of the car, and as I entered the yard, she made a made dash to the back door.

She leapt onto the storm door and immediately went crashing through the window. This was in the days before safety glass, and by the time I reached her, she was whining and covered in blood.

My wife frantically called the animal hospital, and the veterinarian on call promised to meet us there. We wrapped Bacoose in towels that were soon ruined, and I sped to the animal hospital across town.

As I drove, I felt certain that my beloved pet was dying, but as it turned out, her injuries were not nearly as serious as they looked. After many stitches and two days in the animal hospital, she was ready to come home.

She was heavily bandaged and nearly hairless because of all the shaving necessary to mend her wounds, but she eventually completely recovered from her injuries. She also never again even touched the storm door that had caused her injuries. She had learned her lesson.

Bacoose has been dead for more than 30 years, but she was a great companion for me during an critical period in my life. And she gave me the only Independence Day memory about a dog that does not involved being terrified by the fireworks.

Dogs hate fireworks just as much as they hate thunderstorms. But that’s another holiday story.

JOHN CANNON can be reached at jcannon@dailyindependent.com or (606) 326-2649.