DAWGS IMPORTANTE

The first of many dogs that have honored me by their presence was at Beloit at age two, and my parents let me name him. There was a radio soap opera Mom had on named “Judy and Jane”. Sounded like the perfect name to me, so I proposed Judyandjane. Well, the terrier ran away—in those days no one had fences and no one ever leashed or heard of such laws. I suppose he found a better home with no hazard from a two-year-old boy—and a more suitable name. The next dog was “prematurely removed” as he chased and, I think, killed one of the neighbor’s free-range chickens. That’s just what dogs do—they chase anything that runs. Then I don’t remember another dog for quite a while; but I got a baby brother instead.

In my 70’s I was convinced that every farm required a crowing rooster, so I bought two beautiful multicolored bantam cocks. Well, they didn’t last the night, as they strutted too close to their secure pen fence. There wasn’t anything left except some pretty feathers and three proud dogs all looking guilty when questioned.

Rusti was a memorable dog though once loose would not come when called. (I guess all dogs have their bad qualities). She enjoyed unencumbered rides sitting proudly behind me on the Aspencade. I was constantly alert to sighting a squirrel. She would bring me my slippers from the bedroom to the easy chair in the living room one at a time. One evening I tried to fool her, and said “where’s the other one”. She just gave me a disgusted look. She would also carry the newspaper from the drive into the house—with close supervision. (I always told Margo that Rusti was a more agreeable passenger on the bike.) On Rusti’s first vet visit I was asked her breed. I reported what I had been told—she was a lab/golden retriever mix. Well, the vet said, with no facial expression, “She must have had two fathers then, as she looks like a chow and has a purple tongue”. I had no reply, being dumbfounded, and had to think about that for several days. I suppose it entertained the vet? I thought Rusti showed promise in riding on my windsurfer with me; but she quickly discerned that jumping off was safer than riding with me.

Fuzzy was our dog during most of my growing up years, after grade school through high school. He was a small non-descript terrier. He was famous in the neighborhood for his rat killing performances, which drew a crowd of spectators as his fame grew. The Kemps who lived a block away would move their chicken coop for cleaning every once in a while and borrow Fuzzy to eradicate all the rats—usually more than a dozen or so would be quickly dispatched. He was free to roam as was most every dog, and we heard reports from a wide area. He wasn’t neutered and was quite friendly. He ate mostly table scraps, even chicken bones. I don’t remember any visits to the vet. I think he died of old age.

Duke was a favorite. An Australian Shepherd has instincts to herd and protect and be close to his “owner”. No one person—or even several—could capture my favorite horse, Amigo; not even grain or any sneaky approach helped. But Duke always succeeded. His, and I suppose Amigo’s, fun began in our 50-acre pasture. Sometimes Duke would be behind snapping at Amigo’s heels at a full speed run with Amigo attempting to kick him. Other times Duke was in front with Amigo trying to stomp him at a full speed run. After a few circles Amigo would run into the five-acre pasture and the same “dance” continued. Then after a while he would proceed through the gate into the 1⁄2 acre lot. Then Margo, Duke, and I could finally catch the docile horse for a ride. On the ride Duke often walked just in front of Amigo or close behind on the trail. Remarkably, Amigo never ever showed any hostility or aggression towards Duke, or vice versa, after he had a lead rope or halter on.

Duke also protected the premises. He never was aggressive, snapped, or bit anyone once they were let into the yard. But after nipping the U.S. postman on two occasions Duke was “let go from his duties”. He had also nipped the neighbor boy who was at the fence. (The fence around our yard was a field fence with four-inch woven wire. It had sufficient “give” in it that when Duke hit it with force his muzzle would reach approximately one foot beyond the fence. Well the federal government threatened us but Monica’s father was the postmaster and calmed the situation; however, Duke’s fate was sealed. Our share cropper when told the story responded, “Oh, yes, Duke got me several times, but I was too close to the fence”. I chastised him for not saying anything and he replied, “It was my fault, no big deal”.

We had a dog for a short while in Denver at a rental while our home was being built. The boys next door teased him by running a stick on our picket fence. So he bit them first chance. The second chance the father assured me he was going to sue me for everything I had if the dog didn’t disappear. A veterinarian explained that the dog was just defending himself and would rely on this behavior at any time in the future, and that there was no training which would change it.

Homme` Age` (Old Man), a toy poodle, was ours while the girls were growing up. He seldom received the fancy grooming or daily brushing he deserved. Late in his long life he got a bladder infection one night while visiting Gene’s. He was banished to the garage at night, and next morning bloody urine and a gnawed door trim showed his upset and problem, and were upsetting to us all. Neither he nor I was ever forgiven fully by our host, undoubtedly influencing his current attitude towards dogs. Later at about 14 Homme` lost an eye in a dog fight. The vet couldn’t do much for that, but explained that Homme` had a serious overbite and teeth problems that he could fix. Well, I had been through orthodontics with Cheryl, and Linda might need the same. I thought the vet was being funny. I guess this was my first realization that the dog world expectations (and expenses) had changed. Later Homme` was suffering so I thought the honorable thing would be to “put him down”, and so I dug a grave and made a marker. I had to borrow the neighbor’s gun; he agreed with my mission. Well, afterwards, and to this day, I found I really don’t have the stomach for such and thereafter veterinarians have performed the service.

One retriever type in rural Peoria used to bring home the neighbors’ muddy shoes that they had left at their back door. He brought home a seat cushion from a garage sale marked 50 cents. I asked him, “Where are the other three?”, as this was obviously a set. One day he came strutting across the road with something in his mouth. I yelled at him “What you got?” He dropped a live duck that quickly flew away. It was from the neighbor’s pond of pet ducks nearly a mile away. On reporting the incident to them they admitted that they fed our dog treats on his visits as well as feeding the ducks. I suggested they stop the treats and our dog would stop visiting.

Margo won Freckles plus all dog care products required. This registered Brittany pup was the grand prize at an Outdoor Woman retreat. Freckles was an outside dog without house training and no field training. He spent a lot of time “on point” at birds. He also assisted Trinket, a dachshund/Jack Russell mix who was the instigator and main digger, in digging up the yard for voles. They spent many hours trying to get some varmint or snake out of the woodpile. One day Margo captured a photo which later inspired a watercolor of Freckles watching a turkey hen and four chicks about 25 feet outside the fence. When we moved to town he moved to Palm Desert, CA, to be Liz and Dave’s companion and the prime pointer-out of desert animals like lizards, etc. He recently passed away from old age at 14. A copy of Margo’s painting hangs there in his honor. Trinket now has old age problems at 14.

Coco was rescued from certain death at the Humane Society. Our trial was her last chance. She is a loyal, extra smart Manchester Terrier that just needed attention and a big yard to run in. Margo is “the dog whisperer” with her. Even spelling our intentions in Coco’s presence doesn’t keep our plans secret as she always seems to be listening intently for what we want just as we think of it.

On Cheryl’s death we took Lexipro of the Desert, one of three pretty Papillons she loved. Lexi’s idiosyncrasies have taxed us, as he fit in with Trinket and Coco. Retrieving a ball over and over without tiring is a little unusual. But he hasn’t shown his old age much at 13.

One dog story I can’t resist telling happened at a scrap yard in Peoria. I occasionally took visitors there to see a Cat hydraulic excavator outfitted as a scrap handler (grapple and magnet). We drove in and saw a rust colored dog chasing and barking at the switching locomotive’s front wheel every time it moved. What did he think he was going to do if he caught it? Later we saw him prancing with a hubcap in his mouth. Was the car moving when he caught it? Well, there were no trees or sticks, just scrap iron.

Much more could have been chronicled, as our dogs indeed have been important to the flavor or our lives.