Dog Man

Fiction

Dog Man

Leo Lawton

Randall Calhoun was a hound man.  In that part of Mississippi, near Marion, that was a good thing to say about a man.  Most times a man was known by whether he kept dogs, what kind of dogs he kept, and how he kept them.  That was about all you needed to know about a man to know if he was worth anything or not.

Doc, as all his friends knew him, was a veterinarian.  To his credit, he would treat any animal smaller than an elephant, but his first love was those hounds he kept.  He had Treeing Walkers, Plotts, Blueticks, and crosses between them, but not just helter-skelter, these crosses were well planned in advance.  A dog man don’t just let things happen.

Especially so for the Doc.  He used his dogs to track and tree bobcats.  Once he had them up a tree with the hounds bellering at the bottom, Doc would come along and climb the tree with that cat in it.  He had this thing he made himself to catch them cats alive.  It was nothing but a piece of plastic pipe about four feet long with a loop of cable run through it.  One end of the cable had a handle threaded over it.  He’d climb up to that cat and slip the noose end of that thing over its head and pull the handle.  When he did he had a bobcat by the neck.  He’d climb down from the tree dragging that cat after him.  The dogs would worry the cat a little while Doc was getting it into a carrier.  Then he’d sell the cat to a zoo.

It cost far more to feed and care for those hounds than he got for the cats he caught, but that wasn’t a problem.  To a dog man, cost was not an object.  The fun was in the chase not the ending, or worrying about cost.  Doc often turned them hounds of his loose where he found a cat’s tracks crossing a dirt road.  He always followed them hounds on foot, until he caught a cat, or had to give up cause the hounds was wore out.  Doc never wore out.

I took one of my beagles to his clinic one day that had gone and got snake bit, and was in a pretty bad way.  He laid her down on a table as gentle as a baby lamb, gave her a shot of something, and we sat around talking for a few minutes, I guess, to see what was going to happen next.  Doc was standing there next to her table and sort of stroking the soft fur on the back of her neck.

“You’re going to be all right, little lady,” he was crooning in that drawl of his.

“Do you really think so Doc?”

“She’ll be fit as a fiddle in a few days.  Don’t you worry none about her.  I’ll do all the worrying necessary for the both of us.  Hand me that bottle of stuff right there by your elbow, will you?”

“Doc, I don’t know how to thank you sometimes,” I said.

He said, “I’ll tell you what you can do,” as he slowly nodded his head.

“Anything you say Doc, just ask and it’s yours.”  At this moment I was vulnerable.

Damn, the man had just saved my Becky Sue.  I had gone rabbit hunting this morning just at daybreak.  Mississippi might be in the deep south, but don’t you believe it can’t get cool on October mornings.  I had five of the beagles running and had managed two cotton tails and one cane cutter already when I heard a dog snuffling in a brush pile not too far from me.  It was just a minute or so later, I heard this sharp little yelp and Becky Sue came running over to me like she was asking me to make it better.  I looked and seen this faint trickle of blood on her off foreleg.  I suspected I knew what happened so I walked over to where that yelp came from.  Sure enough, there was a big old rattler laying up along side a windfall pine.  The sun had got high enough now to warm him up and get him moving for the day.  I raised my 20 gauge and sent him to meet his maker or at least parts of him.  A load of number six high brass will do a job on a diamondback.

So here I was ready to give the Doc anything I had as long as he could save Becky Sue.  It had taken me a while to round up the rest of the dogs, get them home and in their pen, and then drive to the clinic so she was panting pretty good when I got her there.

“Doc, just what is it you want from me?

“Well, you know how I’ve always told you these little beagles was totally worthless?”

“Yeah Doc, you have, but you surely can’t think she was at fault for getting bit by a rattler.  Any dog is liable to do that.  Even them mutts you run the bobcats with must get it once in a while.”

“First I want you to know they ain’t mutts.  Them is some of the finest cat dogs in all Mississippi, if not the whole southeast.”

“Okay doc, I was just funning you.”

“Secondly, I want you to remember what I told your wife a few days ago.”

“Doc, I didn’t even know you had seen my wife lately.”

“Yes, she was in with that little seal point Siamese of hers.  It’s going to have kittens and she was just making sure it was in good shape for the task.  I told her then that the Siamese was fine and if she just let the cat alone everything would be okay.  We talked a while about the cats, and what it was like raising them.  She told me sometimes it was hard letting the kittens go as she was often attached to them.  We had us a real good chat about them cats, yes sir.”

“Doc, can you get to the point?  What is it you want from me?”

“Well it’s not so much I want something from you as it is I want something from your wife.”

“Now you wait just a minute here Doc, don’t you go saying something stupid and make me wipe up this office with you.  Now I’ve always liked you, but I ain’t going to take no garbage about my wife from you nor nobody else.”

“Well what I wanted from your wife was a promise that she never get rid of them Siamese cats.”

“Well that’s a whole lot better than what you got me to thinking, I’ll tell you right now.  But what do you care whether she keeps them damn cats or not.”

“Well, just like I told her,” he said, “I just want to make sure you keep some animals on that place of your’n that ain’t totally worthless.  Now get this mutt outta here and bring me a rabbit next time you’re by.”

Exporting Our Future

America achieved greatness on the back of ingenuity.  Inventions of all types stoked a newborn country’s labor force bringing about an industrial revolution like the world had never seen.  As machinery was brought forth to replace manual labor, production levels soared.  Our nation, which had been nearly totally absorbed in agricultural processes, changed.  As machinery removed the drudgery from farming, and less farmers farmed more land, the newly found ex-farmers formed a labor force for the manufacturing revolution.  Our farmers became factory workers.  With the change to manufacturing our country found greatness on a world-wide basis, and rapidly became an industrial giant leading to a world power as great, or greater, than the world had ever known. 

Yet today our politicians have been prone to establish policies in direct opposition to this former greatness.  Do they realize that there are millions of aliens working in our country, and sending most of their wages back to their homeland while the misguided fools of a do-nothing congress talk continuously of allowing them to remain in our country.  Our future social security system is being exported to Mexico, Guatemala, and dozens of  other countries in this manner.

Does the average American citizen realize that every time they buy a Chinese manufactured product that they are in fact subsidizing Chinese labor instead of supporting their own country? 

Wake up America!  Our future is being outsourced!

The Julie La Plant

On my previous post, March of Dimes, I mentioned an old poem that I had heard as a child.  I was never able to find a copy of it.  Now due to asking for a copy, my grandson Chris Dandro, located this copy in an obscure book.

 

It is my opinion this is an adaptation of the original poem by Dr.  Henry Drummond of nearly the same title, by a gentleman named Daniel T. Trombley.

 

Recreation     Volume VIII Number 1, January 1898

G. O. (Coquina) Editor and Manager

 

Ze Wreck of Ze Julie La Plant

(Old Canadian Boating Song)

 

‘Twas one dark naght on Lack Champlan,
an’ de win’ she blow, blow, blow,
An de crew of de wood scow, Julie Laplant,
got scare an’ run below.
For de win’ she blow a hurrycan,
by’me-by she blow some more.
Dat scow buss up on Lack Champlan,
‘bout half mile from de shore.

De Cap’n he walk on de front deck,

he walk on de hine deck too.
He call de cook up from de hole,
he also call de crew.
Dat cook she name was Rosie:
she come from Mo’real.
She was a cham’er maid, on a lum’er barge,
on dat big Lachine canal.

De Cap’n den he trow de ank,

but still dat wood scow driff;
De crew she can’t pass on dat shore,
fah ‘cause dey lose de skiff:
Fah de win’ she blow from Eass, Nort, Wess,
And de Sout win’ she blow too.
An Rosie say “Oh Cap’n dear,
what ever shall we do?”

An’ still dat win’ she blow, blow, blow,

an’ de wave roll high an’ fass,
An’ de Cap’n he teck poor Rosie,
an’ he lash her to de mass.
Den de Cap’n he put on a laff presev,
an’ he jump into de lack:
An’ he say: “Good bye my Rosie dear,
I go down for your sack.”

Nex’ morn’ ver’ early,

‘bout half pass two-tree-four,
De Cap’n, de cook, an’ de wood scow,
all lay corpse on dat shore;
For de win’ she blow lack a hurrycan,
by’me-by she blow some more.
Dat scow buss up on Lack Champlan,
‘bout half mile from de shore.

Now all Lack Champlan sailor man,

teck warnin’ by dis song:
Go marry a nace li’l French gal,
an live on a nace li’l farm:
Den de win’ may blow lack a hurrycan,
an’ s’pose she blow some more:
You don’t get drown in Lack Champlan,
so long you stay on de shore.

March of Dimes

President Franklin D. Roosevelt formed the March of Dimes in January 1938 (the same year I was born) as a foil against Infantile Paralysis, or Polio, a condition for which he had been diagnosed.  Cards with slots for dimes were passed out in schools.  We children would go door to door almost ready to buy, beg, borrow, or steal enough dimes to fill our cards for a rapid return to our teacher.  Apparently, in time those dimes helped as a vaccine was developed to combat the disease, and a complete cure was ultimately found.

In the meantime, during the 1940s, before the days of TV and other modern forms of entertainment, once a year there would be a local talent show for the benefit of the March of Dimes.  It was held in our local Ogdensburg, New York city hall auditorium.  As a youth, one of my fondest memories was attending the yearly March of Dimes Talent Show, and especially so when my older brother Delbert played his harmonica as a guest performer.  I would always offer up at least one of my dimes to hear him play “Turkey in the Straw,” “The Wreck of the Old 97,” “Redwing,” or maybe “Listen to the Mockingbird.”

Meanwhile there was another performer, perhaps a Mr. Jolly Bergeron, who year after year offered an oral presentation of a poem about Lake Champlain.  It was spoken in a broken French dialect, and ever a huge hit with the entertainment starved audience.  The words, “The vind she blows one hurricane, and the vind she blows some more,” are forever, right or wrong, stuck in my head.  Some fifty years later, in 2004, I made an attempt to locate the words of the poem.  I’ve forgotten the name of a gentleman from eastern New York who, upon my requesting it, offered a poem titled “The Wreck of the Julie Plante,” by Dr. Henry Drummond as essentially being what I recalled from so far in the past.  Somehow though, it never seemed quite right.  I recalled the poem as relating to Lake Champlain, not some place I’d never heard of, somewhere in French-speaking Quebec, Canada.

With always more information appearing somewhere on the web, today I searched a bit more with the result that I now understand that a man named Daniel T. Trombley adapted the original “Julie Plante” version to a newer one featuring Lake Champlain.  I have learned that Mr. Trombley, or Trombly, placed his version in a booklet titled “Poems of Batiste: Whoa Bill.”  He may have titled his version as, “The Wreck of the Julie La Plant.”

If, by chance, anyone should read this that has a copy available, I would very much like to have a copy of it.

Time

When we are born, our clock starts. When we die, it shatters to be used by no other. The only thing given to us at birth is a certain amount of time on this earth. It is a reducing debit account with an unknown balance.

When we are very young we have little say in how our time is spent. Our parents nurture us in every way, acceding to our needs, yet our time account diminishes. With good parents, this varying amount of time is well spent in the formation of our bodies and our minds.

As we age, with a depleting time balance, less of our time is spent in the dictations of our parents, teachers, and other mentors, and more in the pursuit of our own desires.

The constitution of the United States guarantees us the rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. No person, no group, or no government can guarantee you those things. Your only guarantee is your remaining amount of time.  It’s all you ever had.

Since the beginning of the human race we have tried to divide time into recognizable segments so that we might structure our lives in an orderly fashion. It is time to eat. It is time to sleep. It is time to whatever. This is a misnomer. What we are really thinking is, beginning at this time I will use a portion of my allotted time on earth to eat, sleep, or whatever.

As most of us think of time, we associate it with our planetary system. It takes one year for our planet to go around the sun. Our planet rotates once each day. Our day is split into twenty-four one-hour segments, and our hour is divided into sixty minutes for no apparent reason. Why they are called this I do not know, but they have nothing to do with the passing of time. They only designate our perceived idea of it. Time continues to pass, no matter what we call it, or how we divide it. Time has nothing to do with our planetary system. It is merely a method that humans have devised to identify blocks of it. Time is forever. It never began. It will never end. It goes on incessantly. Only things change. Time is infinity.

When we have used up our allotted segment of time, our account is empty, our balance is zero, and our requests for more go unanswered.

The Depression

On October 29, 1929, Black Tuesday, the American Stock Market crashed, bringing forth more than a decade of hardship, rough times, untimely deaths, and chaos.

I was born late in this period, but there was still enough want, need, and poorness to go around for the average family.  We lived on a small dairy farm in the far north of New York State, and even though we were off the beaten path, it was not unusual for stray homeless tramps to stop, looking for a meal no matter how meager, whether it be a free handout or most were willing to work at any form of labor for their repast.

There was a semi-permanent transient army of wanderers unable to find a way to earn a living, no matter how willing they were to labor at any honest undertaking.

My Uncle John was one of these almost hopeless gypsies spending many years riding illegally on freight trains from city to city always seeking a better life that never seemed to materialize.  He was somewhat like Hank Snow singing his song, “I’ve Been Everywhere.”  I spoke once of having lived in Lemoore, California, and John said, “Oh, that’s just down the road from Fresno.”  Another time I mentioned spending some time in Pensacola, Florida, and John said, “Yes, that’s where the main street is Palafox.”  Obviously he had been to both places, as he could neither read nor write, much less understand maps.

It seems to me that with the number of homeless souls on the streets of our cities at present, maybe we aren’t too far from those same times of nearly a hundred years ago.  When will our government start counting these homeless along with the unemployed?  Just because a million less are on unemployment, doesn’t mean they all went to work.  The only reason they’re not riding the rails is because the Railroad isn’t running either.

Bird Feeding

As my wife is a bit under the weather so to speak I decided to feed her friendly flock of wild birds so I stuck on a cap and vest that was hanging on the wall.  Then, as she often does, she asked why I wore that vest instead of another vest.  After about two or three minutes of argument I finally convinced her the simple reason was that the one I had chosen was the first one I came to, and it was fine.  Then I donned my gloves and made it out the door as she yammered on about why was I going out in the first place?  I quietly closed the door leaving her to argue with herself about that one.

I then proceeded to the birdfeed container, and scooped out some for the pan on the porch, and tossed some over the side of the porch for those little feathered friends that like to eat on the ground.  Turning back to the feed storage can I scooped an entire pitcher full for the middle of the yard where the critters like to gorge themselves.  I carefully proceeded down the steps, knowing it was probably yet slippery even though there was snow on the ground.  Often a layer of snow on top of an ice base is even slipperier than without the snow.  The snow helps to lubricate the ice in case it’s not slippery enough to start with.  I got down the steps, and across the cement block at the foot of them.  I then proceeded across the downhill part  of the lawn as you leave the cement part.  All was well and good as I took little baby steps across that part keeping my upper body well balanced above my feet.

As I left the downhill section and started across the flat part, all of a sudden I was on the ground on my back.  For a couple of seconds I didn’t sort of know what had happened.  Then it came to me I had fallen, but I seemed dazed a bit.  I couldn’t remember how to get back up on my feet again.  I decided if I rolled over on my stomach that would help so I did that, but I didn’t seem to have strength enough to rise back up, and I was yet sort of dazed, and not too sure what I was doing.  Then I heard the door open and knew I should get up or the usual feeder of those little bustards would have a hissy fit.  Right then and there I was getting back to normal, ready to argue no matter what she said.  So I stood and proceeded to pick up the bird seed that hadn’t spilled and continued on to feed those dirty rotten vultures in the middle of the lawn.

Yeah, I’m okay, and how was your day?