I have not talked about four-legged animals like dogs. There is a reason; I don”t have any. We did once. That was while my dear wife was alive. A friend gave my wife a sickly mongrel and my wife nursed “Sweetness” back to health.
Sweetness was a genius dog. There are genius animals just like people. This dog, when prompted by my wife, would repeat the three words “I love you.” I confess that the words sounded more like the howling shape of “Iee luuuv iuuu” but it was close enough to astonish listeners and make my wife proud as punch.
Sweetness was also a good dog. She was always obedient and affectionate. Unfortunately, she was not spayed. She had a litter of six pups. That was the beginning of our unruly herd of dogs. Each was entirely different, both in appearance and temperament. There was Bear, a brown dog that resembled a bear cub. There was Lancelot, a dog of more regal bearing. Blackie, a female, was devious and untrustworthy and two others that were mostly incognito and drew no attention. I built the herd a fine chain-link dog run. They had a large warm dog house to shelter them from the elements in winter but most of the time they ran free on the land.
Blackie had a permanent grudge against Sweetness, her mother. She was jealous. At every opportunity she harassed Sweetness. Eventually, the day came when Blackie, the bitch, managed to turn the pack against her mother. Dogs don”t always have any familial memory it seems. They attacked poor Sweetness on a day when I was away and my wife was alone. They were killing her favorite dog and I was not home. In desperation she phoned a neighbor.
“Bring a rifle. They are killing Sweetness.”
Nothing could stop the dog attack; neither the garden hose nor hitting the animals with a plank.
“Shoot Blackie,” my wife ordered our neighbor, who had arrived in a minute or two with his rifle.
George shot and killed Blackie and the pack slunk away aware and guilty of their crime. Sweetness was bothered no more. She lived until she succumbed to cancer. A traffic accident on the road out front accounted for poor Bear. He was always on the road and into places where he shouldn”t be. One pup we gave away and the two remaining dogs lived out their lives in peace. I don”t have dogs anymore.
Cows are another matter entirely. We had eight heifers; a Black Angus and seven polled Herefords. None of them had horns and, for the most part, all they did is munch grass in the fields and fertilize the pasture.
Blackie, the Angus, was the exception. She was fiesty. The day I brought Blackie into the squeeze gate so I could give her shots she penned me up against the gate exit trying to get out. There is only room for a cow or a man in such a narrow place. I couldn”t move and Blackie wouldn”t retreat. I have no idea how I managed it but desperation breeds resolve. I pushed Blackie off my shoulders and managed, somehow, to snake my way up and over the back gate. Blackie always looked at me funny after that.
Gene Paleno is a writer and illustrator living in Witter Springs.
