A home of my own, a dog's tale.
|[Photo: HE and the Basset]
"Get out of the car, you stupid, this is your home, this is where you belong, now go …”
He rest his head on my shoulder for a while, I stare straight ahead …
Be strong now, do not give in, pay no attention to his advances and then maybe he will feel unwanted and go away. You have to, cowboys do not cry - and all that …
His warm breath in my neck is not the most pleasant smell one would want, then, what can one expect, with his diet - having to eat what he can, anything goes as long as it is available.
“Can I not stay with you? I will do what I can to make you happy. You name it, look at me smile, see how happy I am, I can.”
I dare to look into the rear view mirror, that face says it all. I can almost hear him.
A few minutes and he gets out of the car, as the backdoor was open to him, to do, as he would decide to do.
He decided to get out, he greets all his pals - a sniff here and there, everybody is happy to see everybody and he climbs back onto the backseat.
He rests his head on my shoulder - again, again - I look straight ahead, this time I do not even look into the rear view mirror. I do not want to hear him, I do not want to see him, I do not want to feel him, yet I smell him.
I can almost see her, his previous owner. She would shuffle along with the pack of dogs shadowing her. The big Labrador – black as night, named after the black Mamba snake, although his bite was not as poisonous, the mere thought kept many at bay, one petite, grey Whippet – as amiable as ever, with a tail which wagged his mood, a dappled Jack Russel, pedigreed Basset with his ‘girlfriend’, and a few more, and Him.
She was never good with people. Now her animals … then, it is another story.
Him is a cross Sheepdog. Him has no name to my knowledge. All I know about Him is he used to follow Her everywhere, and now he decided I would be a possible …
A possible what ?
We were never introduced, nobody said I should take Him. As a matter of fact, I am here to do a job and go home. I do not need baggage - not more - I need less.
Him has developed bad habits, he has been introduced to hunting and he loves it..
The Basset is to blame, the Basset is a hunter by nature, he was bred to take a scent and run with it. The Basset and that girlfriend of his, they think they are the Bonnie and Clyde of the pack. Now Basset is locked up, and she landed herself with pups, and they are not even Bassets! There are rumors, it was Him.
They are saying that Him must be shot, others say the pound will be a good place to send him, and he says he will try his luck with that man who moved in next door.
The legal owners are my ex son-in-law’s brother, and the Bassets belong to the new wife of my ex son-in-law. I have asked them to take responsibility for the dog as it was their mothers. The less said the better, as I am returning Him every second to third day for the last two months.
He is a sheepdog, and sheepdogs needs a man, they must be trained, given responsibility, made to work, and kept in check. Almost like children, else they go wild.
Now some would say this or that, I say, Him is not mine, and his future is not for me to decide. In the meantime, I would do as I think – and I think the dog may know what is best. And the odd bowl of dog-food I can spare.
He needs a man, he was bred to be man’s best friend, and there are no friends where he lives.
Then he climbs out of the car, joins his pack, and all of them frolic in the direction of the dairy.
Sometimes things are what they are, sometimes … Who knows ?
(This is a story in the making. What the end will be is not clear yet, the fat lady has not done her part
December 1st. '14
This story is now over six months old, still the sheepdog calls.
He is not fed anymore, he stays for a few days, goes home to eat and returns.
In the meanwhile, the property was sold, and now we are awaiting the final papers to be done.
The property is being cleaned up a bit, the dog is ignored, still he stays on.
He has now started hunting on his own.
We are visiting the property now and then, as there is a helper living on the place as a caretaker.
The caretaker has chased the dog away, telling the mutt all kinds of things.
The mutt left, came back, was told things again, left again.
Last week we went to start packing for the final move.
Guess who turned up to greet us, as happy as can be - that dog.