A Dog's Life
As long-time country-dwellers, we've always had a dog or two as part of the family. Dogs provide many benefits, not the least of which is unconditional friendship, a thing which is much harder to find in other humans. In the country, most people let their dogs roam free, which makes for happy dogs. But like most benefits, this one has its risks as well. Lots of country dogs end up as road kill unfortunately, and I've shed my own share of tears over quite a few past friends when they met their fate on the highway.
I suppose some would argue that dogs shouldn't be allowed to follow their natural instincts and their nose by running free, since they aren't always good at dealing with human inventions like cars and 4-lane highways. But I find that most country folk are of one mind on this issue - freedom is an inalienable right for dogs just as it is for humans. Freedom and space is what attracts us to live out here in the first place. Besides, most of us depend on our dogs to warn us of unexpected visitors or to be the welcoming committee for friends when they come over, so having the dog in a pen isn't a serious consideration.
Pete cooling off in the pool. No, that isn't his Coors Light. |
Pete is a friendly dog, a 90-pound golden retriever / lab cross, whose worst habit is that he always has to have something in his mouth. So if you put a personal belonging of any sort within reach outside, Pete will get it and chew it up. We've learned to modify our behaviors sort of like we had to when we baby-proofed the house years ago. Unfortunately, visitors forget after we warn them, and Pete has eaten more than one pair of glasses, chewed many a shoe, and had fun playing keep-away with many humans, usually giving up only when cornered. We long ago stopped worrying about him chewing aluminum soda cans to shreds, since he apparently has a stomach made of iron. His tail never stops wagging when he's having such fun. In fact, if you get in the way of that tail, he'll inadvertently knock you down with it. It wags with such force, it has been known to dent a car door.
Pete is getting old, having learned to stay away from the highway early on. I suppose in human terms, he would be in his late 60s, so he isn't quite as strong or spry as he used to be, and his face is getting whiter. He has several battle scars from encounters with other critters - a couple of hairless patches on his legs for instance. Pete is tough as an old boot. He's been bitten by possums and raccoons, and even by the occasional snake. Other than making his nose swell up really big for a couple of days, those encounters haven't caused any permanent damage. Heck, I had my hand bitten by a copperhead several years ago, and the swelling went down in a couple of days just like it does for Pete, so we have something in common.
There are other dangers that come with the freedom of the country as well. With no fences and unrestricted movement for all comes the possibility that your turf will be invaded by others who have no manners. Dogs who belong to country families usually learn that their yard is their territory, and they tend to stay there, with only occasional visits to neighbor yards to see what's up, look for something to eat, or find a convenient place to use the bathroom. Country dogs I've known won't foul their own yard.
People who figure out they shouldn't have taken on dog ownership, mostly city folk, sometimes dump their dogs out in the country, leaving them to fend for themselves. I have no idea why they don't leave them at the local animal shelter, which asks no questions and will care for them until they are adopted or euthanized. Maybe they figure being homeless is better than euthanasia. There is a lot of guilt that goes along with sending a pet to its probable death. But we adopted Pete from the animal shelter as a pup, and I must admit, we've adopted more than one stray who wandered up. In fact, our cat, Chlorine, adopted us in this way. We ignored her for several days after she wandered up and camped out under our deck, but she saw something she liked and wouldn't leave. We wouldn't trade her for any other cat now.
The trouble with strays is that they revert to their instinctive behaviors when they get hungry. For dogs this means forming packs in order to kill or be killed. I don't blame the animals; the former owners are the ones clearly at fault for breach of trust.
Friday morning, around 9 AM, a pack of four stray dogs wandered into our yard and attacked Pete. I knew this pack was in the area, since a neighbor had driven over earlier in the week asking if we had seen them after her terriers had been attacked.
I heard a big commotion outside and looked out the window to see an indecipherable cyclone of dog bodies. Barefooted, I ran to the garage and picked up the first club I saw, the wand for the shop vac, and ran across the yard to the dogfight. The four invaders had Pete on his back, two biting him around the head and forelegs, and two biting him on his groin and hind legs.
I whacked the biggest dog across the back with my makeshift weapon, and they dispersed, trotting up the driveway and looking back furtively to make sure I was still there. Pete, being too proud to let me see him take a beating and defending his territory, followed them, and they tangled once again at the end of the driveway. I ran up and whacked the big one again, and they ran off across the neighbor's pasture. Pete followed briefly, but came back when I called, limping and coughing. I believe the pack would have killed him if I hadn't intervened.
For just a little while there, I wished I owned a gun.
I knew Pete was hurting pretty badly, since his legs were shaking and unsteady, and there were some bloody spots here and there. He laid down in the garage to lick his wounds, moving as little as possible. When he didn't look much better by lunch time, I took him to the vet to make sure he didn't have any internal problems I couldn't see. He didn't have any more wounds as it turned out, but he got antibiotics to ward off infection and some painkillers to help him until some healing could get underway. He's a lot better this morning.
Ideally, a dog's life is much like a human's, mostly happy, full of love, but colored by an occasional scrape with tragedy. It is during those times that we depend on our unconditional friends to help pull us through.
I know some day Pete will reach the end of his life, as all living creatures do, but I'm glad to have been here to help my friend this time around.
dm 11/23/03
Last Update 4/3/04