|
|
Dogs figure
in
life's fondest memoriesby Delbert Trew
|
|
I
can't
remember not having a dog during my early life - big, little, every
color under the sun, every breed, and every crossbreed possible. I
loved my dogs. I learned about injury, dying and death as the busy
road in front of the house took its toll.
I also learned to recover from grief as that same road brought another
stray dog to my door.
My earliest dog memory is about a black and white rat terrier. When
he and I became tired of being trapped in our prison yard he would
dig a hole under the fence and we would escape to the wheat fields
where dad was plowing. Though the dog did the digging, I received
the spankings.
Later years brought a large, bobtail collie to the farm. Together
we made a great team of hunters prowling the junk piles and fence
rows searching for prey. As the mouse and rat population diminished
we went after cottontail rabbits. A neighbor taught me to use a length
of barbed wire to twist a rabbit from a hole.
One day Stub and I chased a rabbit into a hole in a fence row. I found
a wire, fashioned a crank, inserted the end into the hole, and began
to twist. With a jerk I pulled the prey from the den. Stub attacked
and began shaking the beast. Amazingly it turned into a skunk instead
of a rabbit and we were sprayed from head to toe. Back at home, Stub
was banished to the barn while I was bathed in tomato juice and my
clothes burned in the trash barrel.
Being a professional musician most of my life caused many a lonely
ride home after playing a dance somewhere. After a rodeo dance at
Clarendon one night, I loaded my gear, collected my pay and started
back to the ranch.
It was 2 a.m. I was tired and sleepy, rolling down Route
66 and nearing the turnoff to the ranch. Suddenly, a sneeze came
from the darkened back seat. My heart stopped, while my hands froze
to the wheel. Unable to force myself to look backward, a thousand
scenarios passed through my mind. Refusing to become a statistic,
I made my plans. After slowing down to turn into the ranch, I would
jerk the steering wheel, open the left door, and leap into the night
hoping to get away in the darkness.
At the last moment when I clutched the door handle, a small screw-tail
bulldog jumped over the back of the seat and stood innocently. I nearly
choked him in relief. The next day I returned him to Clarendon
where he happily trotted off toward home.
© Delbert Trew
"It's
All Trew" -
January 16, 2005 column
See
Route 66
More Animals |
|
|
