Post by Ozarks Tom on Jan 5, 2021 3:59:54 GMT
Don't know why, but my mood tonight is fairly malevolent, so I thought I'd try telling about wonderful animals I've known.
My first dog was Rags. I don't know what his name was originally, but that's what he came to after he was a year old when he tore the mailman's pants to rags.
I was given him when I was two years old, and he was a pup. Our family had another dog that didn't like me one bit for some reason, he was mainly my next older sister's dog which might explain it.
At any rate, we lived in the country on 44 acres of woods some ways north of Minneapolis. Being the last of three children, my mother realized kids are made of rubber and healed quickly. Consequently, Rags and I pretty much wandered the woods whenever the urge hit me, which I guess was every day.
I had no idea where we were, which way the house was, or much of anything else, but I'd follow Rags and we always got there, usually both of us covered in ticks.
When we moved to town he made his territory known to all the neighborhood dogs. There weren't any leash laws back then, and every kid had a dog. When other kids would come over their dogs would stay at the street, while Rags watched carefully that none ever came into "his" yard. He never even did his business in our yard, always going to neighbor's yards to not foul his domain.
Rags was half Chow and half Black Lab, with the size of a Lab and the disposition of a Chow. A one master dog with the ability to always take care of me. A vicious fighter, I saw him kill three other dogs over time that came too close.
I was about 13 when I was walking my paper route making my monthly collections. If I remember correctly the evening paper cost $1.50/month, and I had about 120 customers. Three guys I didn't recognize, but obviously knew I had cash on me approached and demanded the bucks. As usual, Rags was wandering around, sniffing and peeing on bushes, generally just following my progress. As soon as he sensed my danger he was between me and the threat, showing his teeth and promising to remove the testicles from anyone who tried to lay a hand on me. They believed him, and I went home with the money. Yeah, sort of a four legged concealed carry.
He aged well, probably some arthritis, but lived much longer than most big dogs. His life ended one Saturday morning when a bounty-paid city dog catcher shot him in front of our house after tying out a female in heat to his truck. The neighbor across the street saw it, and by his telling the dogcatcher tried to put a slip noose over Rags' head and Rags took a bite out of him. He shot rags and threw him into the back of his truck, quickly hauling away. He denied ever being in the area that morning despite testimony otherwise, and the city kept him on.
The next week was Halloween, and as luck(?) would have it, his basement house covered in tar paper and his truck burned to crisps. Funny, that.
My next favorite dog was Domino. Born to a Doberman sire and an English Setter dam at the back yard neighbors. The absolute smartest dog I've ever known. So easy to train even without treats, she learned hand commands to the point where all I had to do was give a whistle if she was a hundred yards away and motion of sit, lay down, then stay. She'd stay right there until either I came to her or called. Going to the cabin on weekends I'd say "Let's load up", and she'd be standing beside the driver's door waiting to jump up on the console for her ride to the country. She was overly big for the console, but had been riding there since she was a pup. Didn't seem to mind hanging over both ends.
She didn't age well, and when arthritis kept her from jumping into her favorite chair there wasn't a choice.
Then there was Driver. He was raised from a pup by a neighbor to guard their alpacas, and did so for a couple years. I've always felt like The Lord brought him to us. The neighbors had sold their alpacas and were moving to Hawaii. At the exact same time we'd decided to start raising sheep and were wondering how we'd keep the coyotes away. We considered a donkey, but having a couple other dogs rules that out. Donkeys don't differentiate between pet dogs and coyotes. Within a few days of bringing the sheep home the neighbor stopped by and asked if we'd take Driver. Well, that solved two problems at once, so of course we did. He never bonded with the sheep, but his territory was his to be guarded 24/7, and anything within it was safe from anything. Being a Great Pyr, he watched the sky for predator birds as much as the fence line, and we never lost a lamb to an eagle or hawk. A more loving dog I can't imagine.
The neighbors moved back, and she asked if they could have Driver back. Well, as much as we hated the thought he was after all their dog. My wife walked him over there one morning, and while they were inside having coffee Driver came home. Standing at the gate when I walked out of the garage wanting back in. So much for repatriating that boy, he knew where he was loved. He was 13 years old, aged for a Great Pyr when his pain got too much for him and we had no choice. We still miss and talk about him.
I know the story of Rainbow Bridge is a myth, but I can't help hoping it's true.
