You've Got to be Kidding!

When I wrote about the hound dog, I knew I was walking on sacred ground. All of Pagosa owns at least one to five dogs each. I received so many comments about dogs I couldn’t help myself; I had to write another dog article!

My friend tells me her dog sleeps in pajamas. Her husband sheepishly says, “Not all the time.”

I raised my eyebrows; this is good stuff, does this really happen? “You’ve got to be kidding; your dog sleeps in pajamas? Al would die if I put pajamas on his hunting dog. It would challenge his manhood. He probably wouldn’t mind if I put a red vest or camouflage on Shy Anne if it meant getting his game, now that I’m thinking about it.”

My friend continues, “Our dog sleeps with us, and by putting him in pajamas, it keeps the hair off the sheets.”

“Okay, I think I can understand. Wouldn’t it be easier just to let him sleep on the floor? I’m just asking.”

She continues, “Our dog has a closet of clothes. When our dog goes out, I put booties on him, his feet get cold and I put a coat over his sweater.”

I made a mental note. “You mean the layer look? I must be missing something here. Maybe there is a difference between city dogs and country dogs or maybe there is a difference between a man’s dog and a woman’s dog.”

Our yellow Labrador is country and so is Al; Al would have fits if I put a coat on his dog. She owns only one coat; when it gets dirty she runs to the river even in the winter. The Rio Blanco is her bathtub and in the summer her swimming hole. Her thick coat of hair is good enough to keep out freezing cold and in the summer she sheds it in the heat.

We do not walk our dog, and she has never been on a leash. Her favorite pastime is retrieving birds. She roams our property and knows her boundaries. She knows to stay home where she is fed. Her daily routine is following Al to the garage and back. Her social life is barking at her best friend, Daisy, the dog next door.

Al’s dog thinks she can drive the old blue truck which has turned into her doghouse on wheels. Al takes her around the property in it and she is content being a country dog. No one follows her around with a pooper-scooper. She is hearty, never has been to a doctor, except for shots. She has a dog’s life and is happy. Now I am wondering?

Al and Shy Anne have their favorite hunting shows they watch in the evenings. Al pats her head and tells her the same old hunting stories and she relives every story and hangs onto his every word. She gets scraps from the table and is over weight. We should put her on a diet, but she would be the only thin one in the household. She would feel she was being punished and deprived.

At nights, she sleeps on her own cedar mattress on the floor. Her dog bowl gets washed when it looks dirty. Whatever Al doesn’t eat, Shy Anne eats. Al and his dog is a pair made in heaven. They belong together. I wouldn’t say they are starting to look alike, but they surely act alike.

They prowl the kitchen at night for a snack; Al pops a marshmallow in his mouth and gives one to Shy Anne.

So what is the difference in dogs? It must be the way they are loved. They all seem to be the perfect match for their owner; it is more what their owner needs than what they need. Al needs a good hearty dog, one who can move quickly from moving objects; such as car wheels, jacked up cars and swinging hammers. Al needs a dog who embraces heavy handed pats; and. one who gets excited when a gun is cocked.

Maybe it’s their master who needs to be adjusted. Meanwhile, I am keeping Al and his dog away from the city. They think they have a pretty good life. How does the song go? “How can you keep them down on the farm once they see Paris?”

Final Brushstroke! Keeping Al and his dog down on the Lower Blanco makes them fat, happy and content. Life is pretty sweet. It’s a dog’s life.

Never Say Never - Road Kill in the Freezer

How does anyone go from “Never” to “I guess its okay?” It starts with shock then it works itself into normal.

Back in the ‘60’s we had a neighbor lady, a widow. We called her “Crazy Old Lady Badell”. She had a big, fat, white furry cat which sat in her lap. She stroked it daily and the fur flew. She found great comfort in that cat.
It died.
My friend said to me, “Crazy Badell froze her cat.”
I said, “Froze her cat? Why would she do that?”
“Well she was really attached to it,” she said.
“I knew she found great comfort in that cat. I need to see it for myself.”
“Yes, it’s in her freezer. She’s crazy. I’ve never heard of such a thing as that.”

Then several years later, I opened my freezer and a wild turkey was starring me in the face. With its wings spread across the entire chest freezer, I yelled “Yikes, what’s this? Al, what have you put in my freezer?”

“Don’t touch it, don’t mess up the wings, it’s a trophy.”

I struggled with that turkey for months. Finally I said, “Get rid of that turkey or I will feed it to the dog, I need the freezer space.”

Al says, “I hope you didn’t mess up the wings.”

“Al, just get rid of that bird. I’ve fought with it long enough.”

Then there was the badger, the road kill. “Al, I don’t think it is safe to put road kill in the freezer with our food. It will contaminate our food.”

“Oh don’t be silly. It’s fine. We’ve never had food poison, we are all healthy.”

Then there was the bear hide that took up half of the freezer. “Al what is in that big black bag in my freezer?”

“Oh, my friend got a bear and he gave me the hide. I want to have it tanned.”

Two years later, I was still packing food around that big lump.

Then came the buffalo hide. “Enough is enough,” I said to Al

Al gave me a rebuttal, “This hide is valuable, it is a buffalo hide. Don’t touch it.”

I didn’t buy into it. “Al, get rid of that hide or I’m throwing it out.”

“I don’t know what to do with it, give me some time. It’s fine where it is.”

“No Al, it’s not fine. I need the freezer space.”

So that’s how you go from saying “Never” to saying, “I guess its okay.” After the initial shock then you start figuring out how to live around it.

I talked to a friend, “Is this normal? Are we going to die with some kind of disease from those animals in our freezer? It’s gross.”

She said, “My husband does the same thing.”
I guess if some one else is doing it, then it must be okay. “What is in your freezer?”
My friend said, “I have a wild pig with big white teeth in mine.”
“Well, Al brought home a coyote.”
You go from shock, that’s crazy, to a mutual society. Then it is upping your friends.

I walked into the kitchen, Al is using my blender. “Al, what’s that pink stuff in my blender? It looks like Milk of Magnesia.”

“Oh nothing! They are just deer brains, I’m blending them. Then I’ll apply them to the hides which will make the hides soft.”

I should have known. Al got another wild-hair idea; he had been reading his Trapper Magazine again and decided to tan hides. Maybe he’ll get that buffalo or bear hide out of my freezer.

“I knew I should have thrown out those hides when I had a chance. Al, sterilize my blender when you get through.”

“Betty, you are so touchy.”
“Touchy or not, sterilize my blender.”

I have taken away all of Al’s fun and he is driving me up the wall with all his hunting stuff. I use to think we had a little class, but now I know we have none. I am wondering about the Health Department. I’m not shocked at anything any more.

Turkey season is here. I might be living with another turkey in my freezer. I’m still sleeping with an old turkey in my bed.

Was old Mrs. Badell so crazy after all? Maybe a cat in the lap is the way to go. Mrs. Badell is way dead and gone and her big, fat cat is probably mounted and sitting on someone’s mantle.


Final Brushstroke: I don’t know what brings more comfort; sleeping with an old turkey in the bed, or stroking a fat cat on the lap.