Dogs, big and shaggy, small and bristly, are our friends, companions, protectors, mischiefers and, to be honest, a sometimes pain. I have known many dogs in my years. They generally have enriched my life…but not always.
Dogs can be very threatening or just crazy.
My Dad had a German Shepherd that he bought to protect his business in a crime-ridden part of Chattanooga. He was cared for by a trusted employee, Rufus Garth. Rufus named him Satan and let him wander through oil tanks till he was as black and ugly as possible.
Rufus fed him gunpowder to make him mean. Satan kept everybody away. You couldn’t approach the fence without him barking, snarling and showing his teeth! But he had a weakness. If he knew you, and you brought treats, he would calm down and almost be friendly…almost. I found out his weakness. It was fruit cake. He loved Claxton Fruit Cakes. Toss him one and off he would go, tail wagging, to devour it and let you by. I always kept a box of them in my trunk. But a miscreant? Beware!
Another dog, Hunter, a liver and white Springer Spaniel was the perfect dog for our young family. My kids all learned and loved to climb the cliffs and boulders on Signal Mountain. We would take Hunter with us as we scaled the face of Signal Point. Ropes would accompany the kids up and down, but Hunter needed no rope. He would amazingly climb the cliffs to stay with the kids. True. Now getting him down was another story.
Some of the queerest dogs in our life were not ones we chose, but were “gifted” to us. For some reason, our college-age kids and their friends thought nothing of bringing their dogs to our house. These were inevitably Pit Bulls and Rottweilers. These dogs have both defenders and naysayers. One Pitbull, Daisy – an optimistic name – was left at our house for a few days by a college-age son. This dog had a jaw that would take a bite out of rock and steel! Daisy was put in a bedroom while young children played. She quite literally tore open the wooden window, ripping it to shreds, climbed out and ran away. Doors and walls meant nothing to her - through them she went.
Out of this period, came a huge Rottweiler, Dominion, or Dom for short. He scared everybody. He was black with a touch of brown and big sad eyes. My son left him to us unexpectedly when he went off to college. He grew bigger than the grandchildren. When he slept on the floor, he would take up all the room. He ate like someone coming off a 40-day fast. We had to put a “No Trespassing” sign around his neck when he developed hip dysplasia later in life. His long legs would stick out wherever he slept. His paws became very tender. The problem was that people would step on his paws! Oh my. I wouldn’t say he bit, but he could take a nip out of your socks.
But one thing a dog can do that is so sweet is to be a companion and comforter to a sick person. If our kids had a fever and went to bed, Hunter would stay beside them. Now, after the kids are gone, we have a West Highland Terrier. She is not quite a lap dog, but she will sit or sleep by you. This white bundle of fur, Fluffy, loves to love and loves to be loved. She is a sweetheart until she senses a small varmint. Then like Jekyll and Hyde she changes instantly into “Fluffy the Destroyer.” Moles, chipmunks, lizards and chickens beware! No quarter given. Fluffy rid the yard of ALL moles and voles; never a more determined hunter lived.
Dogs are great! I can’t remember a time when my family did not have one. A good dog is a sweet memory, eccentricities and all. They become markers, a type of chronology of our lives. It is a grace of God that they love and serve so well.
Doug Daugherty