BAD BAD DOG

     Not every dog can be described as man's best friend.  Or, at least, it is according to my thinking.  Much like every animal on the planet, there's good and there's bad.  Even with us humans, we have good and bad. But I'll not go anywhere with this topic, except with a certain dog.  I love dogs.  But I have to admit there are some that apparently don't want love from anyone.  And such is the case with a dog that lives down the street.  I know nothing about this dog except he's black and a nuisance.  I'm not even sure he has a name. The apparent owner never revealed this.  He simply keeps saying, "The dog isn't mine."  Before I get a head of the story, I begin from what I know as the beginning.
     The area school lets out.  The children begin their walk home.  Up the street stand three children who are afraid to go any further.  "The dog will attack us!" they say.  And sure enough, he will.  A grown up will help the children to get past the dog.  I've even helped them.  And so has my son and other neighbors.  No one seems to stop the situation.
     One day, two girls came running and jumped into my son's truck bed to avoid the chasing dog.
     "I'm sorry," they apologized.
     "That's fine,"I said, "do you need any help?"  This dog seemed to leave adults alone.
     Something needed to be done.  Everyone including myself was letting it ride.  I figured sooner or later a parent would step in.  But it was not so, until it was this one day.  And it was my son who isn't a parent who did the stepping in.
     It was a small child walking home from school alone.  He must have been in the first grade or so.  I was in the front yard and so was my son.  I asked the boy in passing, "Do you need help getting past the dog?"
     He shook his head no.  And then afterwards, we heard barking.  The dog was chasing the boy.  Since the boy knew we were outside, he ran right to us.  He was crying and so scared.  My son calmed him down and then walked beside him past the still barking dog.
     "I've seen enough," said my son.  Immediately he got on the telephone and called the dog pound.
     "Are you willing to go to court about the dog?" He was asked over the phone.
     "Yes," he replied.
     We watched and they never came that day.  We were gone the following day.  But upon returning home, that neighbor came to talk to my son.
     "Somebody turned me in for the dog," he said.
     "I did!" replied my son.
     "It's not my dog," the man said. He must have known that my son had reported him. Or else, why did he come to my son?  The neighbor said, "He isn't my dog.  But I sometimes let him into my house to feed him." He paused and continued.  "I told them I would find out whose dog it is."  The dog still remains there at the same house.
     I told my son that if it was indeed not his dog then he had a duty to report it when he saw it chasing children.  Even he would frequently call the dog inside when it chased them.
     With school to start again in August, the chasing will surely begin again.  But this time, the dog has been reported at least once that we know of.  If something unthinkable should happen, let's hope someone is held accountable.
   

Coming up in July....

   

I have been absent from this blog for awhile, but please check back in during the month of July.  I will be posting a dog story soon.

Buster

     The old farmer sat under a shade tree.  His days of working in the fields had since passed.  His corn and tobacco crops were shared with neighbor farmers.  They would come taking care of the crops on his farm and giving him half.  I guess you could say the old farmer had retired.  Taking it easy under his shade tree was all he ever seemed to do.  The farmer's wife had already passed away.  His children moved away to the city.  One would think he was alone.  But no, he was not alone.  There under the shade tree lay his trusty old red bloodhound.  The dog was not seeing a lick of work either.  When the old man retired, the dog had apparently done so too.  But then again, as a child growing up in the country and occasionally visiting the old man, I never saw either the old man or dog ever do much.  And now not doing much had gotten to be less. 
     Being young as I was, retirement was far from my mind.  Yet, I wondered if getting old was like this for everyone.  I should live as long to find out.  The old man's stories to a young child were entertaining.  He had seen so much in his lifetime.  He told stories, but then always came back to talking about his dog. 
     "Do you see Buster there lying on the ground?"
     "Yes!" I'd reply. 
     "If he could talk, he'd sure have some stories to tell."
     The old dog he called Buster never made a move.  He was asleep or possibly dead.  It was hard to tell. 
     "Don't let his sleeping fool you," said the old man.  "He's off chasing a rabbit."  He paused and continued.  "Did I ever tell you about the time Buster chased a bear?"
     "No, sir, you never told me."  In all the times I had walked home alone and through the fields, I never once saw a bear.  Our area of the state was not known for bears.  But I listened as the old man told of his being chased by a bear and it turned and ran away when Buster chased after it. 
     "Buster saved my life," said the old man. 
     He told so many stories of his dog Buster and the courageous acts he did.  The stories were hard to believe, especially when looking down each time at a motionless dog.  I continued to listen, though.  I think it gave the old man a reason to live telling such wild stories.  He would be lost if something should ever happen to Buster. 
     In time, the old man passed away.  The children came back to settle the old man's estate.  Under the shade tree they found Buster who had passed away shortly after the old man had.  In heaven, I could almost imagine Buster chasing a rabbit as the old man watched from his chair under a shade tree.  Or better yet, he was watching as Buster chased off another bear. 

Hachi: A Dog's Tale

     I never thought I would be touched by a story about a dog as much as I was the movie, Old Yeller.  But it happened!  The story I am writing about was a movie made in 2010.  I never knew when the movie hit theaters.  I don't go to the theater enough to keep up with releases.  I wait until a movie comes on T.V.  One night I saw this movie to be shown on regular T.V.  I sat down to watch it. 
     The movie did not appeal to me at first.  It was moving too slow.  But some of the names of the cast, Richard Gere and Joan Allen, had me sitting, watching, and hoping it would get better.  I am glad I did.  The end brought tears to my eyes. 
     The movie is an incredible story about friendship and love.  I don't plan to give away any of the plot.  If you are in the mood for a feel-good movie, take some time and see this movie.  It's definitely not a movie that you will make the statement afterwards, "That's two hours I will never get back."  In fact, it proves to be a memorable film.  It's two hours you'll keep.  It's a true story of faith, devotion, and undying love.  It's time and time again in your mind that you'll replay the scenes over. 
     Hachi:  A Dog's Tale is a great movie.  I think I'm back in high school writing a book report.  It's at the bottom of that book report that I comment to whether I recommend if someone read the book or not.  I write:  Yes, I recommend reading.  But in this case, I recommend seeing Hachi:  A dog's Tale.

Old Yeller

     In December of 1957, A Disney movie, Old Yeller, hit theatres.  I was in the fifth grade at the time.  My  teacher was paying for all of her students to go see the movie.  Things were a little different back then.  The class sizes were so small that the fifth grade and sixth grade were in the same room with one teacher, so both grade levels were going. Going to the movie was an easy sell to my parents as they weren't expected to pay for anything. All they had to do was sign a permission slip. On the appointed day, we all loaded onto a school bus and off to the theatre we went. 
     I assume this movie was to be some kind of teaching lesson.  It was treated as a field trip.  And after all these years, I believe it really was a teaching lesson.  I remember so well watching the movie and crying in the closing scenes when Old Yeller died.  Perhaps it helped develop in me my love for dogs that I have today.  We can get so attached to our pets.  I have that movie in my own DVD collection today.  I even loaned it out to my daughter for her children to watch it.  I have been known to watch it several more times myself.  I cry every time I see them put Old Yeller down.  I wonder how many of my old classmates remember the afternoon we went to see that movie.  After all, who could forget it? The lyrics to the song in the movie are so catchy.  I am hardly a film critic, but I highly recommend seeing it if you haven't.   I consider it one of the best movies I have ever seen. 
     With access to the computer, I went online and listened to the song once again.  The song says, "Old Yeller, come back Yeller.  The best dog gone dog in the west." I really didn't need to listen to the lyrics.  They are embedded in my memory from those days gone by, "Old Yeller, come back Yeller."

Chris

     I never knew what kind of dog he was.  A friend's dog had puppies.  She was in desperate need of giving all the puppies away.  I agreed to take one.  And so, the little black male puppy with curly hair was coming to live with us.  With approaching Christmas, I saw him as a Christmas present.  My daughter Karen had asked for a puppy.  It would certainly make her happy.  The breed of dog just wasn't important.  All I knew was that he was cute.  The size of his mother told me he would be a small dog when grown.  Although the dog was Karen's, he would be shared by the other two children.  But right away Karen took on complete ownership.  Because it was Christmas, she named him Chris.  The dog was meant for Karen and rightfully so it would remain that way.
     Chris was not to be an inside dog.  With a fenced back yard and a dog house, he was to remain outside.   But Chris apparently had different ideas about the fenced yard.  How he got out was one mystery after another.  It was a four foot fence.  The size fence allowed for our subdivision.  Across the front yard, Chris came running.  He was followed by a Pit Bull dog and neighbors.  As the Pit Bull pinned Chris down and held tight on his neck, I tried pulling them apart.  With the aid of neighbors, Chris's life was saved.
     Back now in the back yard, Chris was put.  He could not at this late date become an inside dog.  He was set in his ways.  And so, around the back yard we went looking for ways he could have gotten out.  If a scratched area of dirt was found or anything which enabled him getting out, it was fixed.  Chris shouldn't get out now. 
     A message was left for me at work.  It was a call from a neighbor.  The message left read, "Your dog has been run over in the street."  I called home and spoke to my son who was home then from school.  I told Kevin, "Go check and see if it's Chris."  He called back saying, "It's Chris and I have buried him."  Chris had been saved from a Pit Bull dog to wind up killed by an unknown driver. 
     I was curious on how Chris kept getting out of the fenced yard.  Around the yard I checked and found no place dug.  Evidently the little small dog had learned to climb the fence.  I guess his life could have been prolonged by chaining him.  But to me that seemed cruel.  Chris died being free.  As people, we choose to be free also. 
     After Chris, I never got another dog.  I am a dog lover.  But memories are still present as to what more could I have done to save him?  Once we have a pet, we always carry lasting memories.  Although he was such a nuisance, I still loved that little fellow.  He remains always in my heart...

Maverick

     Webster's Dictionary describes a maverick as an unbranded cow or calf.  It also may be a dissenter; a nonconformist.  I don't think either fits the dog I am about to write about.  Besides, I didn't know the meaning of such a word back when the dog known as Maverick came into our lives.  It was during the time a western was on television called Maverick.  I am pretty sure this is where the dog got its name. 
     In the country, back in the sixties, it was not uncommon for a stray dog to wander onto someone's property.  As children, we were always taking in strays.  Once we named the dog, he became ours.  No one came looking for the dog. 
     Every morning, Mother cooked our breakfast.  The breakfast was always highlighted by good old country scrambled eggs.  We raised our own chickens and so there were plenty of eggs.  We gathered eggs every day until we noticed them getting scarce.  Had the chickens stopped laying?  No, in fact, I myself caught Maverick in the act of eating one.  I never told!  But soon others in the family caught Maverick eating eggs. 
     "We can't have this," exclaimed Mother.  "Maverick will have to go. Once a dog starts to eat eggs, there is no stopping him."
     None of us wanted Maverick to go.  We had learned to love him.  He played with us.  He followed us.  He was constantly our companion.  We wondered now what was to happen to him.  But Mother loved animals as much as us.  We were confident she would make the right decision and she did.  She talked to a friend in the city who agreed to take the collie dog.  She had a fenced yard.  She even told Mother he would probably become an inside dog.  He would not eat eggs anymore. 
     We found out later that Maverick did become an inside dog.  He even got a changed name.  His new name was Precious.  Duh!  Can you believe that?
     Eggs are considered to be good for dogs.  Maverick sure did like them.  I like my scrambled or fried eggs too.  With Maverick's departure, breakfast came back to normal.  We had our fresh country eggs every morning.