Blackjack

A strong name for a strong dog.  A dog that should have had his strength celebrated.  But he wasn't.  He was tied to a box at the back of the property.  The only reason I was there was someone in the family had finally stood up to the owner and said enough was enough.

People tell me that putting a beloved pet down must be the hardest part of my job. It's not.  It's the old dogs chained to a box at the back of the property, forgotten, except to have food thrown at him occasionally.  Those are the ones that hurt.

Last Friday was a miserable day.  Cold, raining and he was my last appointment of the day. As I pulled up to a neatly kept double wide, I scanned the yard for the dog.  Because I wasn't sure this was the right place.  Then I saw the box.  And the worn circle of dirt that was this dogs' existence for 16 years.  A circle of flooded mud, with a heavy chain staked in the middle.  The box a collapsing homemade affair of plywood.

I stomped up the stairs cursing the rain, angry that I had to do this.  The woman that opens the door tells me that her daughter, the one who finally made the appointment, wasn't here yet.  I didn't care, I was starting no matter what. 

The skies opened up as I was walking back to him.  And I started grousing to myself about how wet I was getting.  Suddenly, I realized it didn't matter.  If he could endure years of this, I could honor him by staying with him during these last moments of his life.  I could go home to dry off and get warm.  He never could.

He should have been wary. He should have been suspicious.  He should have been a resentful dog.  But, he wasn't.  

He hobbled over to greet me in the typical Lab fashion, on legs that were riddled with arthritis.  Backbone showing.  Eyes cloudy with age. And bumped my hand for a pet. 

I loaded up my syringe and unclipped his chain, a chain big enough to tow a car with, because he needed to be free one last time.  

It didn't take long, releasing him from his hell.  I stayed with him, whispering what a good dog he is, the best really.  Then the rain stopped and I went home.

Ode to a Bear Dog...or not

Pepsi the Bear Dog

      You never quite know what to expect when you pull up to a search.  All you know is there is someone lost in a vast expanse of forest, swamp, corn fields, mountains and other assorted terrain that normal people would take a picture of from their car.

     While training a SAR dog you’ve got to think outside the box when training so your dog can handle all the weird stuff that is thrown at her.  Dogs coming into your territory, bears chasing you out, deer running across her line of sight.

      A couple of evenings ago, training took an interesting turn.  As I was heading into the woods with Kell, my neighbor popped out to say that their bear dog slipped her collar and was doing her thing in the National Forest.  The dog is a sweetheart, so I thought this would be a good experience for Kell.  The distraction of a bear dog hunting up a bear.

     Oh, did I say that just a week ago I had two adult bears ambling through the pasture on an evening stroll, the neighbors have had their dumpster dumped and they’ve caught several of them on their trail cams.  And there have been plenty of sign telling me the bears are sticking around, torn open dead snags and bear poop.  Lots and lots of bear poop.

Hungry Bear

     So, I was okay with another dog running interference for me and mine since there was a very good chance we could run into Mr. Bruin.

Kell did her thing, found her sock with no problem. Then Pepsi did hers.  She dropped a spell over the two of us as we listened her baying on a scent high on the ridge to our south.   Kell and I stopped for a minute to listen to her and I think we both were a little in awe of the pure instinct that Pepsi gave voice to. I did wonder a little what Kell was thinking when she heard that.  Wishing she could follow or thankful she had a warm bed to sleep on every night? A little shiver of excitement or dread, I’m not sure, traveled down my spine. But, we continued down the trail back to the house.

Then Pepsi popped up in front of us, and I almost added to the bear scat found on the trail.  Because all I could think was she chased the bear back around us and we were walking straight into a very pissed off momma bear and her cubs.

Moral of the story?  It’s nice to have a bear dog clear the way in front of you, but it’s not good for your heart or your underwear when they end up behind you.

PS:  When out, later, on a ride on my horse, we scared up that momma bear and her twins.  Interesting ride after that.

No bears for me