The first one is a worthy of any Irish family. Mom was born in 1925, at home. Her mother nearly died in childbirth, and the doctor attending her - for reasons known only to him - injected her with whiskey. It must have "worked" - Mom was born just fine, and Grandma went on to bear three more children. How grand is this? We actually have whiskey running through our veins!
The other story she told me also had to do with my grandmother. Her parents had purchased a farm, hoping their sons would work hard and enjoy the fresh country life. They hated it, and my grandmother ended up doing much of the work. The boys decided to move to Detroit for factory work, and my great-grandfather and -mother decided they couldn't trust the boys in the big city, so they packed up and went with them. They left my grandmother (who was finishing up teaching school) with an aunt, uncle, and the farm dog, Tig.
My great-grandmother didn't mind the city, but missed Tig. So, she wrote my grandmother and ordered Tig to Detroit - a good 130 miles, mind you - on the bus. Can you imagine a bus ride, 130 miles in the early 1920s.....for a dog?? Well, Tig arrived in fine shape, and apparently lived out the rest of his days in the big city.
It was a good weekend.