Lindsey
Strong
English
W 206
Creative
Non-Fiction (Memoir)
11
April 2013
Laughs
and Lessons
(My Crazy Bird Dog Bo)
Young children, especially girls,
tend to have obsessions, myself included. Typically five year olds obsess over
princesses in Disney movies and Barbie dolls. Don’t get me wrong I had my fair share
of play time in the Barbie doll world, but that wasn’t my main concern. At five
years old I was obsessed with three things. One: playing outside in the woods
looking for treasure, two: swimming in my grandma’s pool and pretending I was a
dolphin and three: anything and everything that had to do with dogs.
I had asked my parents repeatedly
for a dog and every time their answer was the same. “Maybe when you’re older
Lindsey,” or “When you show us you’re responsible enough.” I took this very
seriously. I only rented books about dogs from the library and I read them like
my life depended on it. I memorized the different dog breeds to the point where
I still know them today. I can literally see just about any dog on the street
and tell you what kind of breed it is. (It’s a little embarrassing I have to
admit.) But I couldn’t help myself, for
some reason I needed to have my own dog. Eventually, either due to my obsessive
begging or shared desire to have a dog as well, my dad took me to pick one out.
***
I was in morning Kindergarten. My
sister was four and in pre-school. I remember it was late March because she and
I had the chicken pocks around Easter. My youngest sister was still a new born
and Mom was super worried about her catching the itchy spots from us. Just
after we’d finished our dinner one evening, Dad asked me if I would be
interested in going to look at some Brittany puppies.
Brittany’s are gun dogs that were
brought over from France. They were originally called Brittany Spaniels but the
“spaniel” was dropped from the name in 1982. They are most often liver and
orange in color. They resemble setters in the way their wavy coat lays long and
flat and how their feathery forelegs fan out when they run. They are medium
sized and hardly ever stand higher than 20inches or weigh over 50 pounds. Their
either born with small tails or it’s docked at birth. (Just for the record, I
didn’t have to look any of that up). Of course when it comes to puppies for
sale you can never just go and look. I was ecstatic to say the least. Dad had
borrowed a small animal carrier from a co. worker so I knew he was serious.
It was an hour drive to the farm and
it was dark by the time we got there. There were only two puppies left, both
boys. One was mostly liver colored. His head was completely brown. The other
was also liver colored but he had a single white stripe down his forehead and
speckled spots all over his forelegs. He was the one I picked mostly because of
that stripe.
I sat with my puppy in the back seat
the entire way home. I remember that he wasn’t a huge fan of the crate. His
front baby teeth gnawed at the metal bars and his soft whimpers were patheticly
adorable. Soon those whimpers turned into long howls. I tried my best to
comfort him by sticking my fingers between the bars and letting him chew on
them. That didn’t sustain him for long. Eventually, my dad and I howled along
with him.
I had a few names picked out for
him, like Chance or Shadow (from the best dog movie ever, Homeward Bound). Dad
had something different in mind. I remember him saying, “He has to have a short
name so when you call for him it doesn’t take very long.” He called out a few
different names until he called the name “Bo”. I’m not sure where he got that
name from but it stuck. His name was Bo.
***
As a puppy, Bo was perfect. He
walked great on a leash. I walked him every day because my dad said that if I
walked him every day I would have a friend for life. Eventually, just walking
got boring so I got him to pull me on my roller blades. We would do laps up and
down the subdivision and around the cul-de-sac. When roller blading got boring
I ran him on my bike. By this time he was at least a year old and really fast! We
only wreaked a handful of times and none of which were seen by my mother. He
was never allowed inside the house because Mom thought he smelled bad. I don’t
really remember that but I’ll take her word for it.
While everyone was in school or at
work, Bo had to stay in his kennel outside. He didn’t know it, but he had it
made back there. Dad and I built him an amazing dog house that was insulated
and had a heat lamp for Indiana’s unpredictable winters. He always had plenty
to eat and drink and toys to chew on. I never once grumbled about having to
take care of him. I would be out there in the rain, snow, or whatever scooping
poop and filling his water bucket.
He was always hyper when I got off
the bus from school and he would bark until I let him out to play. I loved how
excited he was to see me, jumping up and down on his hind legs and spinning
around in circles chasing his nonexistent tail. I was rather shy in grade
school and didn’t really have many friends so I was just as excited to play
with him as he was with me.
When I was in the second grade I had
made a few neighborhood friends. We climbed trees and played soccer with Bo in
the yard. I always wanted to teach Bo new tricks. I taught him how to jump
through a hula hoop and I could get him to stay on point for a pheasant wing
Dad had attached to a fishing pole. He was most beautiful when he was pointing
at something. When his head was down low his body was a straight line from his
snout to his stub tail pointing towards his target; his right leg curved in a
perfect u-shape like an arrow, and he stayed that way; perfectly still until he
could take it no more. When I got older I wished that we had trained him to be
a hunting dog. Hunting was what he loved the most and you could tell he was at
his happiest when he was in the woods, nose to the ground.
It was that nose that got him in
trouble. Brittany’s were bread to hunt and flush game from their hiding spots
for their masters to shoot. My Dad and I were never bird hunters. We stuck to
deer hunting and rarely did we take Bo out with us even to roam the woods. He
would get carried away with excitement and getting him back was a challenge.
It’s not that he never came when you called him, he did. It would just depend
if we were in the yard or in the woods. We did have a small strip of woods
behind our house. If he got a whiff of something in there you may as well not
waste your breath because he was going after it.
After a few torturous searches, with
me baling my eyes out afraid for his safety, and my dad just angry. Dad bought
him a shock collar. It didn’t hurt my crazy dog but it got his attention. It
was the only way I could get him to snap out of his hunting state of mind and
remind him that I was calling him back to me. It didn’t work one hundred
percent of the time though. I can remember many instances when he got away from
me. He had to be bailed out of doggy jail (Jasper County Animal Shelter) on
several occasions. He rode in a cop car once, when he wondered too far (all the
way to interstate 65), and tried to break into a gas station.
He
developed an unhealthy obsession with cats and that is when everything went
wrong. My dad believes that the reason he was so crazed by cats was because
when he was still a puppy a cat scratched him across the nose and he never
forgot about it. Whatever the reason, he had a major problem.
My parents threatened many times
that the next time he got into trouble he was going to stay at the shelter but
I would defend him, beg and plead, or whatever it took to convince them that I
he wouldn’t do it again. Looking back on that now if I would have let my
parents get rid of him I would have saved myself a lot of heart ache but I was
in love with my psycho dog. Eventually, his cat obsession went way too far.
If I had been there I would have
found a way to stop him or warn him of the terrible things that could happen.
The fact of the matter is, I wasn’t there, no one was. It was the middle of the
day for heaven’s sake! I couldn’t act as his guardian or take his mind off of
what was in front of him. Truthfully, I know he took pleasure in what he did. It
was in his very nature. I imagine him working at a weak spot in the fence,
where the corners met, for hours; carrying on and causing an ear ringing
raucous. All the while he used all his strength and determination, carving out
a hole to escape.
The shock and horror on the faces of
the twins next door, that’s what bothers me the most. They saw the whole
terrible scene unfold before their immature eyes. To see his jaws crunch down
and snap the life out of their pet cat, I’m sure was tormenting. Never the less
the deed was done. Bo was a convict running amuck around our quiet town,
disturbing the peace and even repeating a second act of murder on another’s pet
cat.
I learned a thing or two about
apologies. Bo was my responsibility and I had to take the blame for his
behavior. The moment I walked next door, after hearing the news from my mother
I knew it would be hard. With tears staining my round, innocent cheeks I
pleaded for forgiveness, but the coldhearted “man” of the house never came to
the door to except my condolences. Instead his wife made excuses for him.
In that moment I learned the true
meaning of responsibility and that ignoring problems will get you absolutely
nowhere. That dog never ceased to teach me those hard lessons.
***
When I was in fifth grade I had this
grand idea that I would show Bo in Jasper County’s 4-H fair. After the cat
incidents had blown over and the animal shelter allowed us to take him home, I
was determined to teach him some formal manners. We had gotten
him fixed also, which calmed him down enough so I could control him easier. Well…
all I can say is that he did his best. We stuck it out for four years and he
became known as the dog that always peed on something, or escaped out of the
ring, or caused everyone else’s dogs to act up. I have to admit, he frustrated
me. Whether it was true or not I felt like everyone else in the group thought
they were better than we were. I had to learn another hard lesson. Bo was the
life of the party, he was hilarious! What people thought about us didn’t
matter, and eventually I just learned to have fun with him and laugh along with
everyone else.
***
Junior high was a difficult time for
me, not unlike a lot pre-teens. I was hurt by my best friends who had betrayed
me through a series of hateful acts of gossip and childish behavior. It was at
that time in my life when I realized how awful people could be. I remember
getting off the bus after a terrible day at school and immediately running to
the back yard out to the kennel. Bo and I disappeared into the woods for a long
while. I recall sobbing into his fur, clenching his scruff in my fists, and
holding him as close to me as I could. He put his head against mine and licked
my ear. He didn’t try to get away from me or investigate some smell. He was
focused on me and seemed concerned about me, like a best friend should.
***
We made it through junior high
together and finally high school came along. I was busy with school, friends,
and a new boyfriend. It was all uncharted territory both new and exciting. Bo
was kind of put on the back burner, but I still loved him. I did my best to
spend time with him out in the yard and took exceptional care of him in the
winter time due to his age. He hadn’t run off in several years and he was
making out to be an awesome family dog. He had made it through everything with
me, including the several times we moved around my home town.
It was the first year in our new
house. It was early October and I was helping my parents in the yard, raking or
shoveling dirt that would eventually become grass. Bo was out with us, rolling
in the dust and digging shallow holes to lay in. I remember my mom and dad
driving down the road, my dad driving a bobcat he was returning to Belstra’s
(where he works) and my mom following him in our car with the flashers on. It
was just me and Bo. I decided to start putting the shovels and rakes away, back
in to garage. I went inside for just a minute. The garage door was down so the
dirt wouldn’t fly in, so I couldn’t see outside. Bo was lying next to the drive
way in a dirt hole. Just lying there. It
was only a minute I was away. I hung up the tools and went right back outside.
I noticed right away that he wasn’t in his spot. I called for him and scanned
the yard. Then our neighbor’s yard. Calling him and using the shock collar.
Nothing. I never saw him after that. I did everything I could. Put up flyers
everywhere, posted adds in the local newspaper, I even went door to door around
town in search for my best friend. I never found him and his disappearance is
still a mystery to me despite many theories. I’d like to think he’s still
alive, living with some old women after he stumbled upon her property, keeping
her company and making her laugh. He’d be 13 years old by now.
I was upset and mopey for mouths. I
knew how ridiculous I was to be so upset about a dog, and after some time it
felt like everyone was reminding me that he was just a dog. But what he was to
me was something totally different. He was a friend when I thought I didn’t
have any. He was a good laugh on a stormy day. He is many hilarious memories
that I will always love to tell. I’ll never really get over him and I shouldn’t
have to. He was a huge part of my life and a blessing all the same. I am
convinced that I wouldn’t be the confident women I am today without the trials,
and responsibility I was forced to obtain if I’d never loved my crazy bird dog
Bo. Looking back on everything now, I am somewhat grateful that he disappeared
without a trace instead of witnessing his death. I know I would have had an
even harder time with that. There will never be another Bo, the best friend I
could ever ask for.
