My Life With Dogs

Okay. I've done two straight Posts that were geared more towards the Educational end of the spectrum. Let's get back to some non “Brain-Overload” type stuff. This one is dedicated to dog lovers everywhere.

I've had a few cats in my life and decided with the last one that I was not what you might call a “Cat Person”. There have been many dogs in my life and I must say I enjoy the companionship of a dog over any cat. Dogs just want to please you and they will all love you unconditionally if they receive love from you. Cats? They would just as soon scratch your eye balls out as to look at you, even though they want you to pet them by rubbing their backs all the freakin' time!

My parents had a Collie when I was still crawling around on all fours. Mother could place me out on the center of the front lawn and tell the dog to watch me, then go inside with no worries. Mother never had to worry about any one getting me or me crawling out of the yard and into the street, as long as the dog was present. As soon as I would get close to the property boundaries, the dog would come over and pick me up by the waist of the diaper and place me right back in the middle of the yard and lie down to watch me. This scenario, I'm told, would be repeated each time our dog felt I was nearing danger.

When I was a little older, we had the most lovable Basset Hound, named Girtie. Girtie appeared to be be a little clumsy due to her short legs and the fact that she was slightly over weight. She would often trip when coming up stairs and steps, but had no trouble bouncing down them. Her long, droopy ears were always dragging the ground as she tracked things after picking up a scent from one thing or another. When she ran, those ears would flap up and down like birds wings as she bounded across the yard or floor. Girtie was not allowed on the furniture at all, but she could always be found hopping down off the couch when we got home. Mother used to have to close my door after she tucked me into bed to keep Girtie out of my room. It never failed that I would awaken each morning with Girtie curled up on my bed at my feet. I never figured out for sure how she was getting into my room at night, but I bet Mother had something to do with it. She knew Girtie loved me and would watch over me during the night and not let any monsters get me as I slept. I cried when a neighbor shot her and killed my dear friend, Gertie.

The next dog we had was a Dachshund. I can't recall her name because she was truly Mother's dog. She was a protective little cuss of the whole family, but had bonded with Mother and recognized her as Alpha Female. She was black with brown markings and a bit nervous around new people. She would pester you to death once she got to know you, however, and want to get up in your lap so you could pet her better. What a cute little pest she was. Mother cried when this little dog died.

We next got a female Weimaraner. She was adopted when she was about four years old. This dog was definitively my Daddy's dog. She loved Mother and me but she still was Daddy's dog. We adopted another Weimaraner, a one year old male, to be a companion for the female. These two were inseparable! When you saw one, the other was close by. They were a brilliant team of hunters and watchdogs. I used to marvel at how one would be quiet and still, while the other would keep your attention when a strange car pulled into the driveway. I would have enjoyed watching them in a real life protecting mode if someone had tried to break in or harm one of us. They hunted in much the same way. One or the other would distract their prey and the other would come in for the kill.

While these two were still around, Daddy bought Mother a dog she'd always wanted to have, a Harlequin Great Dane. It was a male and seven weeks old when Daddy brought him home to Mother. I'm sure if you've raised a large breed dog from a puppy, you know full well what happens whenever they are fully grown. They still want you to hold them on your lap like you used to when they were a puppy! The Dane and the Weimaraners got along wonderfully and became a pack of Holy Terrors. In a good way. They went through almost sixty pounds of food, per dog, per week. The trio was inseparable and with these mutts inside the home, we were a family of six.

Early one morning while I was at college and Mother was shopping, the dogs awoke Daddy who had stayed home a little later because he felt sick earlier that night. Daddy immediately noticed the smell of something burning. He went to the window and saw all three dogs barking like mad and looking up to his bedroom window. These dogs were truly heroes! They saved my Daddy's life that morning! Our house burned completely to the ground.

The Dane developed heart trouble, as is common among them, and subsequently died. My Mother cried. The female Weimaraner died of old age and the male just disappeared afterwards. My Mother, my Daddy and I all cried when the two of these dogs were gone.

After I was married, I had a few other dogs but the one that I remember the most from back then was a former hunting dog that had been used for breeding as well which I adopted from a good friend. She was a Yellow Lab and her name was Sugar. I built a chain link fence for her that was thirty yards wide by one hundred yards long so she would have plenty of room to play and train. I use to hunt with her and if you've ever hunted a dog, you realize you have to work them when not hunting. I had numerous birds for her to work with and several balls for play. When I had the dummies, she knew it was time to work. When I would pick up a ball, she'd go berserk! You could see it in her eyes. She'd wag her tail so violently that the inertia actually caused her back paws to slide to and fro across the ground.

One day while outside, I could tell Sugar wanted to play. I went into her run, picked up her favorite ball and threw it down the run. We repeated this for at least an hour without her tiring. I had become tired but picked the ball up which she always placed at my feet and threw it again. Oh, no! This time it was headed along the short angle of the run. Sugar always ran as fast as she could looking over her back and never looking ahead and would try to catch the ball before it hit the ground. As the ball went over the fence, Sugar plowed head-long into the chain link at full speed then yelped. Though I petted and comforted her for a good long while, she never played with me again. She would work well enough but never chased after another ball that came from my hands. Someone stole her right out of her run one night and once again, I cried over a dog.

While living in Wyoming, I had an AKC registered American Black and Tan Coonhound from a champion lineage and he had an impressive PRN. His name was Buford. He was my ex-wife's dog but bonded with me the strongest. There are many stories that could be told about this amazing dog but I'll limit it to only two.

Buford knew he was not allowed in the kitchen when I was cooking, so he would place both front paws about one inch onto the kitchen floor while the rest of him laid on the dining room carpet. I would talk to him as I cooked explaining every thing I was doing and he would listen to me intently. I always cooked him an egg on Sunday mornings. He liked eggs. I could tell.

I also grilled out a lot and would talk to him and explain every thing I did on the grill. One day I decided to go back in to watch a little more TV while my elk steaks were cooking. I looked at Buford and told him to let me know when the steaks were ready to turn over. He got up and came over nearer the hot grill and plopped his butt down on the ground and stared at the grill. I went inside and a few minutes later, the barking began. I went outside and Buford was standing next to the grill wagging his tail. I lifted the top and turned the steaks. I closed it and told Buford to let me know when they were done, then started back inside as he once again sat at his station beside the grill. Several minutes later, more barking. I grabbed a plate on the way outside and found Buford wagging his tail beside the grill again. The steaks were perfectly temped to the rare side of Medium Rare, just the way I like them. Buford could do this every time whether watching food on the grill, on the range or in the oven. I never figured out how he did it.

Buford was often found "Chillin' the boys".

Cletus.  My boy!

I wanted to get Buford a friend and went to Cheyenne to the Animal Shelter. There I found a Tree Walker Hound that had been neglected and obviously abused. I found out that he had been adopted once and returned because the folks who adopted him didn't know how to deal with the dog's issues and how to take care of him. While I was filling out the adoption papers, I was told that this poor dog had been beaten over and over, had been burned with lit cigarettes and shot. One of the beatings he endured left him suffering from seizures, as we were to find out later. For a whole year he would not just come to me when I called him. He would run and hide if he saw any male, including me, wearing a ball cap. Finally, after long hours of loving him without expectations, he came over to me one day and just laid his head on my lap. I slowly began to scratch behind his ears and rub his neck then immediately reinforced his trust in me with one of his favorite treats. Over the next few months, he became a “Daddy's Doggy”. We were quite the pair!

Cletus and Buford.  Pals!

Buford began to get sick not long after he saw that Cletus, the Tree Walker, was going to take care of me. Buford succumbed to a virulent strain of cancer a few months later and I still cry for him today. Buford was missed but we got another friend for Cletus, another Black and Tan, who we named, Zeke. Zeke was adopted from a rescue outfit in Nebraska. Cletus and Zeke rapidly became buddies. I had to leave Cletus with my ex when I moved back home to South Carolina. He's another dog I still cry about when I'm depressed and begin to think about how much I miss him.

When I moved in with my Girlfriend turned Fiancee, she already had a dog named Wookie. If you ever see him you will surely understand how he got his name. He's a Shepard mix and one of the best outdoor dogs I've ever seen. He doesn't bark at things he shouldn't but will bark his head off if he sees some one or some thing come onto the property or if he sees something he views as a threat. He's also one of those grinning dogs and he cracks me up grinning all the time.

Credence, our new baby in "Protect Mode".

More recently, Credence came into our lives. She had been neglected and we could tell she just wanted some one to help her. We did. I'll tell you some stories about our new baby, Credence, in a few weeks. I think I've rambled on enough for now about some of the dogs in my life who became family. I hope you've enjoyed reading some things about these awesome K-9 personalities.

All I can leave you with is this piece of advice. If you decide to bring a dog into your home, adoption is certainly a wonderful route to take. I don't even consider getting animals from the pet shops or any breeding mill these days. I feel adopting a dog from a reputable breeder, shelter or rescue agency is the only logical choice when considering a pet. I've had good luck with reputable breeders but will stick to adoption from shelters and rescue agencies from now on. That way I know at least one more animal will avoid being put to sleep.

Until next week,

Toodles!