Personally, I have always thought that the history of the South should be written through the experiences of churches. As a historical and geographic group, Southerns are devoutly religious. It’s in our very makeup and our history from Day 1. During the Revolution, Washington spoke of the black- robed legion that would help win the war. That’s a reference to the Geneva gowns and robes that the Protestant preachers of the day wore and their contributions to the war effort. 

In small towns today, this sentiment is still to be seen. In our little hamlet of Greensboro, Ga., we have quaint, friendly, and deeply rooted churches everywhere. My parents’ church, First Presbyterian Church in downtown Greensboro, is one of these. If you have never been inside this beautiful structure, you should. It’s a great insight into church architecture of the last century and before in some cases. 

However beautiful the outside is though the people are what make a church function and make it a part of the community. My mom recently asked me if I would write a column on a couple of the members of the church. In particular, the church’s famous four-legged member. So, one sunny afternoon my oldest daughter, my mother, and I went over to visit Mr. Jimmy and Mrs. Sherry Moore. They have the most bucolic and serene farm just on the edge of Greensboro. 

While there in between stories of moonshiners, dairy farms, hunting, and swiping fish from fish baskets, they related the story of Robert E. Lee, who is better known as Bozo. A short and loyal little fella of Manchester ancestry who, believe it or not, even when his owner was away would show up at church and sit under the master’s pew. Apparently, the owner of this fine and upstanding canine was as much a character as the canine! But we’re only really discussing Bozo today. Like all his master’s dogs, he was named for a Confederate General (a peculiarity many of us still carry on), but for some reason, the story I heard said the guy called every dog Bozo. There’s no reasoning behind a lot of our habits.

During a vacation one time, the master left Bozo in the care of his mother and all was well until Sunday morning. Bozo, realizing the day and time, felt he needed to go to church. So, being a good Presbyterian he went. He went in the front doors and to his usual spot (the owner carried him everywhere he went including church every Sunday) under the pew. There he patiently waited for the service to end, at which point the good Robert E. Lee (a Manchester by breeding) got up and went home, where I presume he was expected for Sunday dinner. 

This is a welcoming habit that Greensboro First Presbyterian continues to this day. A member who recently passed away continued the tradition and brought his four-legged companion every Sunday as well. Remember though, even Bozo knew better than to miss church.  

—Outdoors columnist James Pressley can be reached at pressleyoutdoors@gmail.com .