DOGS BY Hudson "Mike" Hascall

 


          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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