I, like most
of you, know that dogs are an integral part of our life. They are pedigrees
and simply just plain mutts. In the beginning all
where hunters
with savage instincts to survive. Yet, time changed all this. Thank goodness!
Frankly, if I had not owned dogs, my life
would have
been void and shallow.
Can you imagine,
just imagine, how in ancient times, prior to the great glaciers, what life
without dogs might have been like? How
intrinsically
fascinating and mesmerizing it must of been for hunters in mastadonian
periods to see their bitter and feared enemies,
gigantic
wolves, eventually approach the campfire in search of tidbits, ultimately
accepting a thrown tidbit of meat as a symbiotic sign of
developing
relationship. Can you imagine, an aboriginal African having a wild dog
of the deserts and plains doing the same? In the
beginning,
the standoff must have been with extreme caution, both growling with contempt
and favor. However, both beasts, man and
dog-beasts,
eventually accepted each other's companionship. Both knew their stead.
Both "selfishly" developed a relationship for the
benefit of
both species. They hunted together. I assume neither were petting-pals
for some time; yet, the marvel of it all was when the
first wild
dog eventually lied besides his chosen master, snuggling together for warmth
and companionship. A perpetual bond began that
has not been
broken since.
Like many
of you, if not most, I have marveled at the beauty of a Pointer or Setter
frozen on a bird; the joy of a Springer rousting a
partridge;
a blue-black Labrador with duck or goose in mouth, water droplets glistening
and running from his head, eyes always
bewilderingly
happy; the mournful wail of a Redbone, Blue Tick, Walker, or Tennessee
mutt hound, trailing a racoon on a half-moon
night; an
Airedale and his howling buddy hounds running a puma or bear, hell-bent
in joyous concert to tree their chase; the Beagle or
Basset upsetting
a rabbit's tranquility, baying with persistent doggedness; or simply the
non-descript family pet who knows who runs the
family, offering
all his or her obsequious tail wagging for selfish reason, its benefit.
You might
ask, why the subject of dogs on a bowhunting sight. Well, I might have
been one of the early-on persons to train a dog to
hunting birds
with a bow and arrow. At first, what I consider to be my most memorable
dog was educated to the gunshot. When I
decided to
hunt birds almost exclusively with a bow, my Brittany, Shannon, was my
hunting buddy. He missed the boom. However, it
didn't take
him long to associate the longbow with hunting; and, in time, he forgot
the shotgun, jumping with enthusiasm when I brought
out the bow
with a quiver filled with flu-flus. In the beginning, he was not partial
to my choice of the bow and arrow. He pointed. I
missed. Eventually,
I began to connect and he didn't give me the "you dummy" look - at least
not as often. Even when I began to
connect,
he sometimes gave me that damned look "get a gun. This is slow work and
boring." When his time came, aided by a strike on
the nose
by a rattler, which he recovered from for a short time, I couldn't take
him to the vet for the merciful end. I could only look at
his wart
crusted eyes, graying muzzle, bemoaning the lack of his use of hind legs
and the sad pain in his eyes. I hurt as much as he did.
The wife
had to do the dismal deed. I wept for days.
Tonight, Jack
Dempsey, our Boxer we inherited from our son when he moved to the Mainland,
reminded me of dogs and the time
immemorial
they have been our companions. I could not but help recall the past and
the marvel God has granted us, dogs. Jack put his
head on my
lap, rolled his eyes, and thanked me for being simply who I am. I scratched
his back, snuggled his head, and simply said,
"The thanks
is all mine!."
Hudson "Mike"
Hascall
February
1, 2000
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