Village Squire, 1977-05, Page 42P. S.
The dog, like his master, is a mongrel
BY KEITH ROULSTON
On the magazine rack out front in our
office, there's a thick, glossy magazine
dedicated to the latest fashion in dogs and
supported by lavish advertising by the
giants of the pet supply industry. Needless
to say no dog even remotely resembling
our dog Jack can be found in its pages.
Of course that's only fitting since Jack's
home, out at Muddy Lane Manor doesn't
exactly belong in the glossy pages of Better
Homes and Gardens either. Nor does his
master belong in the pages of the latest
male fashion magazine.
Jack and I have a special affinity,
perhaps, because we're both mongrels.
The difference, perhaps is that I know I
have a little Irish, English and Scot all
warring in my veins while we can only
guess at what majestic canine bloodlines
are mixed in his.
Jack came to us like most of the dogs in
my life have come: more or less by
accident. As a kid on the farm our dogs
usually came because somebody we knew
had pups they were trying to give away and
parents finally gave in and took one. In this
case it was a little more premeditated. We
hadn't had a dog in years because we
didn't want to keep a dog tied up as we
would have to do in the city. But when we
moved out to Muddy Lane Manor we began
to think more about it. The mistress of the
manor wasn't so sure she liked the idea
because she's never had a dog before. The
kids of course were all for getting a dog.
It was the mistress who eventually got
the dog. The local dog catcher had a dog
he'd caught running on the street. No one
claimed it but he liked the animal too much
to give it the big sleep. So he put an ad in
the paper and Jill saw it. She went to see it,
liked it and a couple of days later the dog
catcher delivered the mut to the manor.
We kept him chained for a couple of days
to make sure he'd get to know where home
now was. I tried to get the kids to go over
and pet him as much as possible but after a
couple of foreys they began to wonder if
getting a dog was such a good idea after
all. He wasn't a big dog but he was bigger
than they were and his excitement at all the
loving sent him into such a tizzy that soon
children were sprawled on the ground in all
directions. t don't think he understood why
they were so upset.
We took him out for a little run every
night those first few days, not letting him
off the chain for fear he'd disappear never
to come back. The first thing I found out
was that despite his small stature, he had
the strength of an elephant. The "little"
run soon resembled a rodeo event where
the cowboys try to rope a calf and
sometimes find themselves dragged along
40, VILLAGE SQUIRE/MAY 1977.
behind eating dirt. It became a race
between his four feet and my two and soon
I found my two were outmatched. I also
found out that he liked bramble patches
and old fences and could maneuvre among
them at top speed, I couldn't. It took only
about two of these trips to decide that Jack
should have his freedom.
The first time he came off the chain was
a joy to see. He raced around the yard in an
endless dance of joy at his freedom that
continued until we thought sure he'd drop
over any minute from exhaustion. Since
then he's been a real farm dog, roaming
the nearby fields with a joy of life we
humans can only realize when we're young
and carefree.
Oh he's had his moments, of course,
when he hasn't been so popular. There was
the time last summer when after working
in the muddy garden, I kicked off my shoes
in the back kitchen . When I returned a few
minutes later, one of them had
disappeared. It was only an old shoe and
wouldn't have matter except for the fact
that only days earlier I'd bought a set of
expensive arch supports for my flat feet
and these were in the shoes. Now what do
you do with one arch support? He brought
the shoe back finally this spring, long after
I'd bought another expensive set of arch
supports of course. The shoe was ruined
but the nylon arch support was still in good
shape. But I had learned an expensive
lesson.
Then there was the night we heard a lot
of barking outside after we'd went to bed.
We didn't think anything about it until we
let Jack in for his breakfast next morning.
The aroma that greeted us had none of the
allure of such morning smells as perking
coffee and frying bacon. Jack had had his
first squabble with a skunk and obviously
lost. He also lost his in-house privileges for
a few weeks until we could stomach him.
But even this spring when he was caught
out in a rain the memory would still come
back, vividly.
Jack quickly proved incompatible with
two of our three cats...or perhaps more
accurately they were incompatible with
him. They'd start hissing and sputtering at
the very sight of him. He'd give chase and
they'd head for the nearest tree. This went
on for a couple of weeks before both
decided to pack their bags and find a
quieter place to live. The third cat simply
rolled over on his back and played dead
ever time Jack charged. He'd nussle the
cat for a couple of minutes but getting no
response would soon go on to other things.
Many a hunter brags about his hunting
dogs. Many a tale of bravery is told about a
dog. None, however, can match Jack: the
best dog -gone mouse hound in East
Wawanosh township. Yes that was mouse,
not moose. Jack's hunting abilities came to
light this spring when the snow left and the
mouse trails became uncovered. Suddenly
a growing number of deceased mice began
to show up on the back step as Jack
brought home his kill.
On a walk one day I got a chance to see
him in action. He unearthed the mouse and
proceeded to drive it to distraction by
letting it escape to one side, only to block
that exit, then to the other side and so on
until the exasperated mouse stood up on its
hind legs determined to defend itself. Jack
barked and yowled at his enemy with all
the ferousity one might expect if he was
facing a whole pack of marauding grissly
bears. I don't know if the mouse won the
battle or not because I walked on and left
the two in their shouting match.
Ah, yes, they'c: laugh Jack right out of
one of those expensive dog magazines and
a hunter would probably shoot him as
useless. But all those aristocratic, lavishly
treated animals could never hope to
provide more joy and love to a family that
old Jack has, mongrel that he is.
A lot !ike people, isn't it.
FOR ALL YOUR
INDOOR AND OUTDOOR
GARDENING SUPPLIES
AND LANDSCAPING NEEDS
AlT'S
LANDSCAPINB
Nursery and Garden Centre
Open 7 Days a Week
Monday thru Saturday
till dark,
Sunday 12 to 6.
Seeding
Sodding
and Shrubs
Everything for your lawn
or garden
Bennett St., Goderich,
524-9126