It's My Blog and I'll Cry If I Want To

Today was mowing day. It’s my job to mow the grounds and around the corner along the fence line by the county road. As I rounded the corner, I could see the stray dog out by the neighbor’s mailbox. That’s where he hangs out. It’s probably where he was abandoned by his owner. The strays sometimes wait for weeks where they were dumped; waiting for their master to come back; knowing nothing else, nowhere else to go.

This stray was dumped with a companion, maybe a littermate. They didn’t look much alike. One was solid black like a lab and the other black and tan like a hound, but they looked to be about the same age, maybe about five months old – about the same age as our own livestock guardian dog, a Great Pyrenees and Anatolian Shepherd mix named Harry. Harry isn’t supposed to like strays. It’s his job to keep other canines off of our property and we want him to learn it well.

As I neared the stray, well, he’s not really a stray being as how he didn’t stray from anywhere. He had no choice in the matter. He was where his owner put him - out in the country so he couldn’t find his way home. He’s alone today as he has been for the past week and a half. Our neighbor’s driveway is right across from his mailbox which is on our side of the street, so that I mow around it each week. I ran into our neighbor a couple of weeks ago when the two strays happened to be out there. “These your dogs?” Nathan asked. “No.” I said. “Somebody must have dumped them then.” Says Nathan. “Yeah.” I respond. He speaks again, “You know what that means.” “Trouble?” I say, envisioning dog packs running amok and killing our chickens. Instead, “I’m going to have to shoot them.” He says. “Oh.” I’m speechless.

Later that afternoon I heard one gunshot from Nathan’s direction, then another. That’s that, I thought. Well, at least they wouldn’t starve to death. At least, the coyotes wouldn’t catch them and tear them to pieces. At least they wouldn’t be killing our chickens in a couple of months.

A couple of days later, I saw the black and tan. Somehow he escaped the bullet. He’s alone now. He lays in the middle of the street…waiting. He lays by the mailbox…waiting. He hunts for rats to eat. Sometimes he’s lucky enough to get one.

On this day, he stands up as he sees me approach on the mower. He takes a couple of hesitant steps towards me. He has big brown eyes that wait for a kind word from me. I know that if I say one word, he will run to me. It makes me tear up just thinking about it. It’s been weeks since he’s had a kind word or a pat. I gaze at him as I pass by trying to assess his temperament and imagining how he would react if I tried to get him in a kennel. I plan out in my head that I’ll put the kennel in the truck, pick the black and tan up and take him to the humane shelter in town, wishing his owner had done it instead of me.

I don’t speak to him as I make several passes back and forth. Each time I pass, he stands ready to be called, looking at me with big solemn eyes, ears laid back submissively, occasionally gently waving his tucked tail. When I’m done I drive back up to the house and forget him as I get on with my busy day.

I was not going to be allowed to forget for long. This afternoon Tom wanted me to drive the truck, pulling the trailer so he and Charlie could pick up the last bales of hay in the field, the one right across from my neighbor’s driveway.

As we were rolling slowly along, the black and tan was sitting in Nathan’s field about 50 feet from his driveway. Nathan came driving out, stopped his truck, got out and reached back in. I could see that he was reaching for his rifle. He rested his rifle on the fence post and aimed at the dog. I covered my face wishing I could be anywhere but there, wishing I could block out the sound. The gun popped and the black and tan screeched in pain. The first shot didn’t kill him. I watched and cried as the dog thrashed and yelped as Nathan walked back to his truck and reloaded his rifle. It must have only been 20 seconds, but it seemed like forever. I watched in horror as Nathan walked back towards the black and tan. As he raised his rifle to take another shot, the dog ran towards him, yelping, until the second shot rang out and he tumbled silently to the ground.

So, whoever it was that dumped your pets on an old county road thinking that someone would take them in or that they’d live a “born free” frolicking life in the country. You’re dead wrong. But don’t grieve yourself over it, don’t lose any sleep tonight. Your dog has suffered so you wouldn’t have to. And I’ve grieved in your place.