I write my stories to hopefully be entertaining. Whether or not
my goal is met depends on how much I enjoy writing them. I crack myself up as I
write more than you can imagine, as I am easily entertained. I try to make them
as humorous as possible, even at the expense of accuracy from time to time. But,
please allow me to take a moment to be serious.
Now that that moment is gone, let me tell you about a dog named Moose. Moose was probably the least luckiest dog I've ever met. He came to us as a puppy when we lived in the country. He was mostly black lab I guess. Just that his head didn't look 100% classic lab. I think there was a collie in the woodpile, if you know what I mean.
When he first showed up as a small pup, he hopped out of the pickup and immediately took after our mature black lab and ran him into the bumper of the truck, his head to be precise. The sound was, "kadoink" as I remember. It wasn't his only moment of glory, but maybe the funniest.
As a hunting dog Moose was second to none. Opinions may vary of course, but he was a road hunting dog like I'd never imagined. All you had to do was let him out of the pickup and he'd take off on a little stiff legged doggie-trot down the dirt road. Suddenly, his ears would pop up and he would hop a couple of times and into the ditch he would pounce. Pheasants would flush and shotguns would ring out. Often he would emerge from the ditch with a bird in his mouth. Thankfully he wouldn't crunch hard enough to hurt them as hen pheasants were apparently his favorite prey.
It wasn't long before his luck turned bad and a series of unfortunate events caused me to remember him more than any other pet of which I've had the pleasure.
After a snow storm, my brother was driving up the long path from our house to the main road. The silly dog was chasing him and didn't remember the road turned at one point. The car's two right side tires went directly over his chest. Since the snow was soft and fresh, it didn't even hurt him. It just made a depression in the snow. That instance was probably more like good luck I guess.
Moose wasn't a picky eater either. Proof of this was when he discovered a not so freshly killed Jack Rabbit and made a snack of it. Soon after the delicacy was devoured he developed some measure of intestinal distress that lasted for days. I can't fully describe the smell that silently escaped his body in the car that time. It was a first date with a new girl and I had brought him along as chaperon. After the initial disgusted look I gave her and she gave me, I'm sure I heard him giggle from the back seat.
He went missing for a few days once. I assumed he was gone for good, but late one night I heard a faint echoing bark in the quiet of the countryside. We found out he had been accidentally shut in one of the out buildings by the landowner. He survived on sunflower seeds and rat poison. The next week wasn't pretty, but he made it.
A horse lived on the place too. I'm not sure why, but there was one there. Moose and the horse would frolic and chase each other around until one day they got tangled up and the horse stomped him into the ground. He escaped the fenced-in area, but collapsed soon after. Broken hip, leg and ego caused another several weeks of healing time to be needed.
I guess I should mention in those days cars didn't have the safety features they do now. Like when you have to press the brake pedal in order to take the car out of park. Moose was a horrible driver. 'Nuff said.
He was also an expert in getting the cats in trouble. He would talk them into mischief and they were never able to implicate him as the troublemaker, until one afternoon when we got home from school. A small white kitten named Snowball had all four feet in the pot of chili mom had made. The door opened. The cat looked up in surprise and yelling began. Moose was lying in the next room and acted like the commotion woke him up. He sat up and yawned as an over exaggeration of his innocence. The only problem was a large amount of dog saliva on the cat's back from where he carried it to the pot of chili. Cold meat sandwiches for us that night and Moose's diet for the week was two gallons of chili.
Now that that moment is gone, let me tell you about a dog named Moose. Moose was probably the least luckiest dog I've ever met. He came to us as a puppy when we lived in the country. He was mostly black lab I guess. Just that his head didn't look 100% classic lab. I think there was a collie in the woodpile, if you know what I mean.
When he first showed up as a small pup, he hopped out of the pickup and immediately took after our mature black lab and ran him into the bumper of the truck, his head to be precise. The sound was, "kadoink" as I remember. It wasn't his only moment of glory, but maybe the funniest.
As a hunting dog Moose was second to none. Opinions may vary of course, but he was a road hunting dog like I'd never imagined. All you had to do was let him out of the pickup and he'd take off on a little stiff legged doggie-trot down the dirt road. Suddenly, his ears would pop up and he would hop a couple of times and into the ditch he would pounce. Pheasants would flush and shotguns would ring out. Often he would emerge from the ditch with a bird in his mouth. Thankfully he wouldn't crunch hard enough to hurt them as hen pheasants were apparently his favorite prey.
It wasn't long before his luck turned bad and a series of unfortunate events caused me to remember him more than any other pet of which I've had the pleasure.
After a snow storm, my brother was driving up the long path from our house to the main road. The silly dog was chasing him and didn't remember the road turned at one point. The car's two right side tires went directly over his chest. Since the snow was soft and fresh, it didn't even hurt him. It just made a depression in the snow. That instance was probably more like good luck I guess.
Moose wasn't a picky eater either. Proof of this was when he discovered a not so freshly killed Jack Rabbit and made a snack of it. Soon after the delicacy was devoured he developed some measure of intestinal distress that lasted for days. I can't fully describe the smell that silently escaped his body in the car that time. It was a first date with a new girl and I had brought him along as chaperon. After the initial disgusted look I gave her and she gave me, I'm sure I heard him giggle from the back seat.
He went missing for a few days once. I assumed he was gone for good, but late one night I heard a faint echoing bark in the quiet of the countryside. We found out he had been accidentally shut in one of the out buildings by the landowner. He survived on sunflower seeds and rat poison. The next week wasn't pretty, but he made it.
A horse lived on the place too. I'm not sure why, but there was one there. Moose and the horse would frolic and chase each other around until one day they got tangled up and the horse stomped him into the ground. He escaped the fenced-in area, but collapsed soon after. Broken hip, leg and ego caused another several weeks of healing time to be needed.
I guess I should mention in those days cars didn't have the safety features they do now. Like when you have to press the brake pedal in order to take the car out of park. Moose was a horrible driver. 'Nuff said.
He was also an expert in getting the cats in trouble. He would talk them into mischief and they were never able to implicate him as the troublemaker, until one afternoon when we got home from school. A small white kitten named Snowball had all four feet in the pot of chili mom had made. The door opened. The cat looked up in surprise and yelling began. Moose was lying in the next room and acted like the commotion woke him up. He sat up and yawned as an over exaggeration of his innocence. The only problem was a large amount of dog saliva on the cat's back from where he carried it to the pot of chili. Cold meat sandwiches for us that night and Moose's diet for the week was two gallons of chili.
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