Three dogs have been running around town, for several days now, with collars but no owner. They were dumped. Adopt one or shoot it. They chased Rod's horses last night, and tonight they're sleeping beside my garage. I'm worried they'll injure one of the wild turkeys when they come down out of the trees in the morning.
There aren't any identifying tags on them, but two of the three have collars, and one even a tag recording the standard vacination shots. I guess if you're going to dump the family pets in the mountains, removing any identifying badges keeps you scott free, while the vacination record adds to their adoption appeal. Look at me Ma, I've had my shots and would like to move in.
A Rottweiler and two mixed breeds. They are friendly. Except today Carter saw the Rot beat the brown one up, and he's limping bad now. Carter petted them on the road after school. You know, make friends so you wont get chased when you ride your bike home. But the trouble is the dogs then followed the kid to our home. I didn't mind them at first. Gave them a pat myself. Talked to them a little bit. I must have said the right thing, and between me and Carter they decided this was their new home. Keithy would have none of it, the dogs real big compared to his 4 year old body, and told them to lay off. He was brave. He told them off, ready to burst into tears out of fear, but he tried to hold his ground. I took his hand and escorted him into the house. Trav was getting licked to death outside. The dogs tested our little city and decided the munk compound was the place to be. This is our family now. They went into the garage and I couldn't get the brown one to leave. He was limping very badly, and wanted to hole up. I don't think he trusted the Rot anymore. I sure didn't want him in there, probably find a corner and die. My wife is allergic to animals, very seriously, and if she came home and opened her car door to find a licking machine, it would be a problem.
I didn't want to shoot them.
My wife did come home, and the Rot sure enough was all over her. I couldn't get her to understand. She delayed and left the door open. When I'd walked her to the inner gate, the only thing keeping the dogs away from the house, she still wasn't listening to me and went through the gate without a thought. I'd planned on blocking it with my body but it was too late now. The dogs went past her and almost made it into the house. I, yes I left the front door ajar. I didn't think they'd get past the outer perimeter and storm the Keep. I think it was Trav who closed it shut in one's face, at the last second.
These dogs thought they had it made. Dark came, I went outside to fill the trash and the dogs were still there. They were sleeping in my patio, and had ripped open a trash bag, licking the ketchup off the paper plates. There was trash everywhere, and a nice Rocky Mountain wind blowing.
I got the shotgun and put three cartridges in the tube. I don't remember what the load was; wasn't important anyway as I was only going to blast the hillside to scare them out.
"Get out of here," I let them know, and hit the mountain face behind the house. I heard a sqawk then, and realized I was aiming at the Turkeys. I'd forgotten they were roosting there. I could have killed a turkey easily.
The dogs ran away from the inner yard, and I thought this was over.
An hour later I went outside and found my new friends sleeping beside my garage. They were pretty excited to see me. I'd just eaten eaten a chilli-cheese corn dog and must have smelled divine.
Next thing I know my wife is calling the police. The only animal control from any government type of service is from the city of Malta itself. The guy wouldn't leave the city limits. So the sheriff called us and afterwards came out.
"Are these dogs friendly?" He wanted to know.
"They are, except for maybe to the brown one, he was hurt from a fight."
"Great. What kind of dogs are these?"
"One's a Rottweiler," I told him. That didn't sound so good to me either, now that I heard myself say it.
About 5 minutes later he arrived on our driveway. The dogs came over and everyone got a lick. Brown wasn't there anymore. I hoped he wasn't holed up in our garage, dying.
"I didn't know my wife was going to call you. I'm sorry."
"That's alright."
Around here most people wouldn't bother calling the Sheriff. They'd just shoot the dogs.
I told him there was no identification, but just the record of the shots.
"They might get a couple more shots," he said. "Tell you what, I haven't eaten all day. Lemme eat and I'll come right back over. He called me about an hour later.
"Let's wait until morning."
"Fine idea to me. We'll see them in the light of day."
I called the school treacher and told her not to bring her dog to school on Monday, just in case these dogs were still around. They'd start a fight with him and maybe he'd get hurt, and he was a real good dog. He was brown too. You never knew about these things.
I guess the dogs are Dead Dogs Walking, though the Sheriff did say he'd round them up into his blue PickUp and take them away.
This is the second boring dog story. Call it January, Month of the Dog.
Or maybe it's like a Chinese mysticism, an OMEN that portends the entire year of 2007. The Year Of the Dog. What does that mean? How would you read this if you also knew how to read tea leaves?
When a stray dog follows you home it means you're supposed to get rich. I don't see how that could happen, though, if for instance we offered this story for sale. It's not really worth millions, is it now?
munk
There aren't any identifying tags on them, but two of the three have collars, and one even a tag recording the standard vacination shots. I guess if you're going to dump the family pets in the mountains, removing any identifying badges keeps you scott free, while the vacination record adds to their adoption appeal. Look at me Ma, I've had my shots and would like to move in.
A Rottweiler and two mixed breeds. They are friendly. Except today Carter saw the Rot beat the brown one up, and he's limping bad now. Carter petted them on the road after school. You know, make friends so you wont get chased when you ride your bike home. But the trouble is the dogs then followed the kid to our home. I didn't mind them at first. Gave them a pat myself. Talked to them a little bit. I must have said the right thing, and between me and Carter they decided this was their new home. Keithy would have none of it, the dogs real big compared to his 4 year old body, and told them to lay off. He was brave. He told them off, ready to burst into tears out of fear, but he tried to hold his ground. I took his hand and escorted him into the house. Trav was getting licked to death outside. The dogs tested our little city and decided the munk compound was the place to be. This is our family now. They went into the garage and I couldn't get the brown one to leave. He was limping very badly, and wanted to hole up. I don't think he trusted the Rot anymore. I sure didn't want him in there, probably find a corner and die. My wife is allergic to animals, very seriously, and if she came home and opened her car door to find a licking machine, it would be a problem.
I didn't want to shoot them.
My wife did come home, and the Rot sure enough was all over her. I couldn't get her to understand. She delayed and left the door open. When I'd walked her to the inner gate, the only thing keeping the dogs away from the house, she still wasn't listening to me and went through the gate without a thought. I'd planned on blocking it with my body but it was too late now. The dogs went past her and almost made it into the house. I, yes I left the front door ajar. I didn't think they'd get past the outer perimeter and storm the Keep. I think it was Trav who closed it shut in one's face, at the last second.
These dogs thought they had it made. Dark came, I went outside to fill the trash and the dogs were still there. They were sleeping in my patio, and had ripped open a trash bag, licking the ketchup off the paper plates. There was trash everywhere, and a nice Rocky Mountain wind blowing.
I got the shotgun and put three cartridges in the tube. I don't remember what the load was; wasn't important anyway as I was only going to blast the hillside to scare them out.
"Get out of here," I let them know, and hit the mountain face behind the house. I heard a sqawk then, and realized I was aiming at the Turkeys. I'd forgotten they were roosting there. I could have killed a turkey easily.
The dogs ran away from the inner yard, and I thought this was over.
An hour later I went outside and found my new friends sleeping beside my garage. They were pretty excited to see me. I'd just eaten eaten a chilli-cheese corn dog and must have smelled divine.
Next thing I know my wife is calling the police. The only animal control from any government type of service is from the city of Malta itself. The guy wouldn't leave the city limits. So the sheriff called us and afterwards came out.
"Are these dogs friendly?" He wanted to know.
"They are, except for maybe to the brown one, he was hurt from a fight."
"Great. What kind of dogs are these?"
"One's a Rottweiler," I told him. That didn't sound so good to me either, now that I heard myself say it.
About 5 minutes later he arrived on our driveway. The dogs came over and everyone got a lick. Brown wasn't there anymore. I hoped he wasn't holed up in our garage, dying.
"I didn't know my wife was going to call you. I'm sorry."
"That's alright."
Around here most people wouldn't bother calling the Sheriff. They'd just shoot the dogs.
I told him there was no identification, but just the record of the shots.
"They might get a couple more shots," he said. "Tell you what, I haven't eaten all day. Lemme eat and I'll come right back over. He called me about an hour later.
"Let's wait until morning."
"Fine idea to me. We'll see them in the light of day."
I called the school treacher and told her not to bring her dog to school on Monday, just in case these dogs were still around. They'd start a fight with him and maybe he'd get hurt, and he was a real good dog. He was brown too. You never knew about these things.
I guess the dogs are Dead Dogs Walking, though the Sheriff did say he'd round them up into his blue PickUp and take them away.
This is the second boring dog story. Call it January, Month of the Dog.
Or maybe it's like a Chinese mysticism, an OMEN that portends the entire year of 2007. The Year Of the Dog. What does that mean? How would you read this if you also knew how to read tea leaves?
When a stray dog follows you home it means you're supposed to get rich. I don't see how that could happen, though, if for instance we offered this story for sale. It's not really worth millions, is it now?
munk
(hence my delay in getting to read this)
:thumbup: