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Stories About Dogs |
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DOGS--MY FOUR LEGGED FRIENDS Albert Payson Terhune, who wrote, Lad of Sunnybrook, Bruce, and other dog stories, once said, "The more I know about people, the better I like dogs." Since early childhood, I have felt the same way. Dogs have been my cherished friends. Sometimes those four legged friends were "owned" by other people, but that did not matter as far as our relationship was concerned. I remember a Siberian Husky cross that was "owned" by our ward bishop. The bishop was not too friendly because I would not let him take advantage of me in a real estate deal. But his dog loved me. When my car stopped at the side of our house, the dog was there to greet me. When I went inside the house, the dog plopped down on our doorstep and stayed there until I came out. It followed me when I went for a walk. It was my companion while I did chores around my little farm. If I sat down, it placed its head on my knee and demanded to be petted. One day the bishop saw us together. He walked across the street, stopped me and said, "I can't understand that dog. He has divorced me. The minute you come home, he comes over here, and stays until you leave. I don't know what to do with him." I said, "Bishop, there is an old saying, 'If dogs and children love you, there can't be much wrong with you." He never brought the subject up again. ********** When I first started driving delivery truck for Auerbach's Department store in Salt Lake, I sometimes had to leave my truck to help one of the other drivers deliver pieces of furniture. One day a man named Severson and I were in the Cottonwood area with some furniture, as well as some packages that had to be delivered. One of the packages had to go to the owner of a large estate on Wallace Lane. Severson was driving that golden summer day with his window down and his arm propped up on the frame. As he stopped the truck in front of that Cottonwood mansion, we noticed a woman sitting on a balcony with a large German Shepherd at her feet. When I opened the truck door, and stepped out to deliver the package, the dog came bounding toward me. He had his head down, and I could hear his deep-throated growls. I knew he was a dangerous dog, but I didn't know what to do--run back to the safety of the truck or face the dog down. I continued to walk toward the balcony. The woman cried, "If you're not afraid of him, he won't bite you." I walked right at the dog. He bounded around me, fangs gleaming like four rows of ivory daggers, jumped up on the side of the truck, and bit Severson on the arm. I handed the woman the package as she murmured, "Oh, that poor man," walked by the dog as it glared at Severson through the now closed window, climbed in the truck, and delivered the "poor man" to the emergency room of the University Hospital. ************** SNOWBALL My first dog was a little, white puffball. When my father brought him home in the fall of 1927, he wasn't much larger than my two cupped hands. I called him Snowball. By mid winter, he was less than twelve inches long from the tip of his black nose to the tip of his stubby tail. Snowball seldom walked. He bounced. He loved to chew on my boots, hang on to the legs of my trousers, and play in the snow. When we played tag on new snow, Snowball had the advantage. He would lay down and disappear. To find him, I had to look for his black button nose. One day, my sister and I took Snowball for a walk. We walked toward downtown Sugarhouse in east Salt Lake. As we walked, Snowball bounced ahead of us, investigating all of the scents and sounds on that busy sidewalk. Then I saw a man, who had been sitting in a car parked on our side of street, run over, grab Snowball, jump back into his car, and drive away. My Snowball had been dognapped. My sister and I cried as we ran home to tell our mother, but we never saw my puffball again. ********** QUEEN My next dog was a female German Shepherd. I must have acquired her myself, because my Dad did not like her. We lived in a small house in Cedar City, and he said she was too big for our yard and home. We were buddies, and I loved her. I was twelve, and I had a .22 rifle. Queen and I spent much of our free time hunting rabbits. Queen was a much better hunter than I. My .22, sometimes, didn't shoot straight, and I missed. But Queen could run faster than the rabbits, and she caught many of those I missed. Like all of my dogs, Queen loved to follow me to school. I tried to make her stay home, but she wouldn't obey me. She would follow along behind. If I ran back, trying to chase her home, she would retreat until I stopped, then she would watch until I turned and continued on my way. She was smart. As soon as I put a little distance between us, she, again, followed along. It didn't do me any good to try to run to the school house, because she was much faster than I, and if she really thought we were racing, she would bound ahead and meet me at the school door, head down, long black tail and long red tongue drooping, peering up at me as though ashamed, yet begging me not to go into the building. Several times Queen tried to sneak into the schoolhouse. Once she even found me in my class room. It was embarrassing. The teacher told me I had to make her stay outside, but she wanted to stay with me. She didn't want to go outside. So I had to drag her down the hall, push her through the door, and pray that someone wouldn't let her in again. One day, desperate, I locked her in our garage. My parents had our excess furniture and other possessions stored in the garage. When I came home from school, I found boxes torn apart, clothes strewn across the dirt floor, and a full sized mattress turned into cotton balls and shreds of ticking. That night, my father informed me that a very nice man living on a farm, miles away from Cedar City, needed a big dog. Then he asked if I would be willing to give Queen to him. I said, "No." But my father's "Yes" was far more emphatic than my "No," and Queen was expelled from school, our town, and our home. She became a farm dog. ********** BUDDY We moved from the small house to a larger one, so Dad consented to get me another dog. He had an uncle in Hinckley, Utah, who was a farmer, and who had a female Spitz. He promised that when she had pups, he would get me one of them. A few months later, Dad went to Hinkley for a visit. When he came back, he gave me a little brown and white ball of fluff. He said that my new dog was half Spitz. However, I knew that a Spitz was, generally, a small dog with a lot of white hair. In fact, that long white hair made them look much larger than they actually were. I knew they also had long tails with a lot of silky white hair, and their tails curled up over their backs. My new pup had short, brown and white hair, and his body was broader and heavier than a Spitz. Also, unlike the Spitz, his tail too, was covered with short, brown and white hair, but it did curl up and over his back, particularly when he was excited or angry. But, I didn't care. I had a pup, and that was all that mattered. I named him Buddy, and buddies we were until the day he was killed. When Buddy was little, mother insisted that I make him sleep in a box by my bed. But he didn't like to sleep alone. For all of his short life, he had slept in a warm kennel with his mother, brothers and sisters, so, alone in the box, far away from his family, he cried and yelped. I didn't want him to cry. I wanted to hold him, to cuddle him, and as soon as my mother went to bed, I tried to. But Buddy wanted to play. He would pull on the blankets, chew on my ear, bite my fingers, and lick my face for a while, then, finally, he would curl up beside me under the warm covers, and go to sleep. Early in the morning, he would wake me by bouncing around on the bed or nipping at my fingers or ear. Then, I would put him back in his box, and let him cry for a few minutes, so that mother would think that he had spent the whole night there. When Buddie was older, mother made me put his box outside, and she demanded that I make him sleep there. But, Buddy didn't like it, and I didn't like it, so, I must admit, I cheated. I opened my bedroom window, and Buddy, waiting near it, jumped through. He would sleep at the foot of my bed, then next morning, I would again open the window, and out he would go. However, one night we were caught. I had opened the window to let Buddy in. It was a warm night, so I left the window open. Sometime during the night, something, a noise or a presence, awakened me. I looked toward the window and saw two big feet and two long legs sliding through it. A man was coming through the window into my bedroom. I was scared. I wanted to yell, "Dad, Mom," but I didn't dare. Then I saw Buddy. He was standing up on the bed. His hair was sticking out all over, and he was growling. Then he jumped off the bed, ran to the window, reached up and grabbed the man by the seat of his pants. Buddy's teeth went through the man's pants, and bit some flesh. I heard a yell and a curse, and the man threw himself back through the window, with Buddy still hanging on. I heard some running feet. I heard my dog bark a few times, then all was quiet until mother and dad came bursting into the room to see what was going on. I told them about the feet and legs sliding through the window, and Buddy grabbing a man by the seat of the pants. I told them how my dog growled and how the man yelled, and how my dog had chased him away. A few minutes later, Buddy jumped back into the room through the window, and mother and dad made a fuss over him, and petted him, and never once asked why he had been in my room. I had taught Buddy how to "Sick im." I could say "Sick im," and he would chase cows and other dogs out of our yard. I never said "Sick im," and had him chase other people. That night when the man came into my bedroom, I was scared, and I didn't think to yell "Sick im," but later I did. I had a pair of roller skates. I liked to skate, but it was a lot of work, so I built Buddy a leather harness. I attached a rope to the harness, put on my skates, and with Buddy, went out to the sidewalk. A block or two away, I saw a man, and I pointed down the sidewalk to the man, and said, "Sick im." And Buddy would fly, pulling me along the sidewalk, but I had a problem. Before we reached the man, I had to stop Buddy. Roller skates don't have brakes, and though Buddy wasn't very big, he had a lot of power. If there was lawn or dirt on either side of the sidewalk, I could bring him to a stop by rolling out into it, but if, like down town, there was nothing but cement, I was in trouble, because Buddy would keep going until he could sink his teeth into whatever or whoever I had pointed to, and said "Sick im," be it dog, cow, man, or boy. I could generally stop him, again, by plowing into lawn or dirt, or by grabbing a sign or power pole. But one day, I had pointed to a man way down the street, and I said, "Sick im." Too late, I noticed that the man was in a hurry, and he was coming toward us. I watched for a patch of dirt, and found one just before we reached our victim. I plowed out into the dirt, lost my balance and fell. The rope came out of my hand, and Buddy hardly broke his stride. I heard him growl, saw him launch himself at the man. I screamed, "No, Buddy, No!" Luckily, all Buddy got hold of was the man's coat. I was able to get up off the ground and grab Buddy's rope. Little damage was done, but the man was upset. At first, for a few seconds, he was concerned about me, whether I had been hurt by my fall. Then he saw Buddy leap at him, and he forgot all about me as he tried to protect himself. But Buddy was completely innocent. He was just following orders and having a good time. He stood there and wagged his tail at both of us, the man and me. Buddy was a fighter. He went looking for trouble, and he usually found it. He loved what seemed to me to be a biting, snarling, growling pitched battle with another male dog. I never saw him retreat or get licked. I worked on a service station as an air boy. (I filled car radiators with water, checked tires, and washed windows for 25 cents a day.) Buddy usually followed me to work. One day a car came into the station. A big, ugly English bulldog was sitting on the back seat. When the owner opened the car door, the bulldog jumped out and started sniffing around the gas pumps and parking lot. Buddy saw him. His tail curled tightly up over his back. His hair puffed out, making him look twice as big as he actually was. As he approached the bulldog, he started to growl. He was looking for a fight, and the bulldog knew it. The bulldog is a fighting machine. He has short legs and a chunky body. His skin is loose, literally a slippery sheath. It is difficult for another dog to sink its teeth into a bulldog, because, the skin slips over the muscle and bone, and all the other dog gets is a mouthful of hair and folds of skin. The bulldog's jaws are thrust forward, and his nose is recessed back, so that when he bites another dog with those heavy jaws, he can hold on and still breathe. Buddy, when he fought, was like a stab of lightning. He went in low and fast, trying to knock the other dog off balance. But the bulldog weighed almost twice as much as he did, and when he attacked, the bulldog just turned aside and planted his feet. He was immovable. Bud bounced. It was like he had hit a rock, but before the bulldog could get hold of him, he picked himself up and jumped out of the way. Then he moved in, slashed with his teeth, and slipped away. The bulldogs jaws snapped on air rather than Buddy's flesh and bone, but I was frightened. I was afraid that if those heavy jaws closed on one of my dog's legs, they would break it. Men gathered around, watching the fight. They even started to bet on which dog would win. I became angry, as well as frightened, and I began to cry. I wanted the men to stop the fight, but they just stood there and cheered as Buddy attacked, and the bulldog repulsed him. Then Buddy jumped back and stopped right at my feet. As he set himself to lunge forward and renew the battle, I reached down and grabbed a hind leg. For a minute he thought the bull dog had hold of him, and he reached back, trying to snap at my hand, but I held on to him, dragging him away from the men and the bull dog. The men yelled, "Let them fight," but I picked up my struggling dog, who also wanted to continue the fight, and carried him home. At that time, I had an uncle who lived with us, and who also worked at the service station. When I went to school, Buddy always followed him as he walked to work. He told me that he tried to make Buddy stay home, but the dog wouldn't. He waited until my uncle was at least a block away from the house, then he fell in behind. My uncle would laugh as he told me how Buddy would take advantage of buildings, trees, and shrubs, hiding behind them, peering around them, thinking that he wouldn't be discovered and sent home. It was my uncle who told me that Buddy would never come home again. Buddy had followed him to work for the last time. He had also tried to pick a fight for the last time. Another dog, minding his own business, had been trotting down the sidewalk on the other side of the street. Buddy had tried to cross the street, hoping to intercept the other dog. A car, going too fast, hit Buddy, and killed him. I cried. A few years later, I wrote the following poem. MY DOG |
