silenthunterstudios
Slipjoint Addict
- Joined
- Feb 2, 2005
- Messages
- 20,039
Peanut was an old pup by the time I met him. Going blind, some of the worst breath I've ever had the misfortune to smell, even among dogs. He was smart as a whip, and if I didn't love the chuckleheads I've had over my lifetime, I'd say he was the smartest dog I ever met. My buddy Joe said Peanut was a very old timer by then, his late late teens by then, maybe even 20. My buddy was always pulling your leg about such things. Well, everything.
Peanut was a Jack Russell. One night, someone broke into my buddy's rowhome looking for drugs. My buddy had horrible knees and balance, but that didn't stop him from fighting back, and so did Peanut. Neighbors in the close knit Baltimore community had to pull Joe and his dog off the guy.
Joe and I became good friends, really bonded over our love of good food and traveling. That and I sat and listened to all of Joes tall tales, many of which I learned later on were actually true, similar to the end of the movie Big Fish, from the people that were there. Peanut was there for most of the ones that happened in the last 20 years. Joe was bigger than life at 6'9" and 400 lbs most of his life. Peanut ruled the roost, his little brother Peewee and later his sister Emma looked to him as the leader of the pack. Peanut wouldn't let anyone else up in my buddy's lap, but when Emma came along, he let her get on my buddys electric wheelchair, and later a kitten my buddy took in. Whenever I would stop to visit, my buddy would be sitting in his backyard, with all three dogs and the kitten on his chair or on him, with his older cat sunning itself nearby. Just like me, my buddy's dogs would not leave him alone. Of course, our love of food, Peanut knew he would get a good meal, and waited patiently each time I brought a salad, subs, pizza, whatever. As the years progressed, both Joe and Peanut got worse, until finally one day, Peanut ran out into a cold winter night. All the neighbors looked for him, I looked for him and went down to console my buddy. He and the little dog had literally been through it all together. They never found him. A couple years ago my buddy just took a turn for the worse with his ailments. Due to those and his size, and dementia creeping in, he went into a hospice. Peewee was taken in by a friend and Emma was adopted by a nurse. They visited him off and on, I don't know what happened to them. Soon after he went into the hospice, I had my accident, and saw him a few times afterward, much to my constant regret that it wasn't more often.
We developed our friendship over knives and guns and other fun tools, and I gave him a few one hand openers, because he had had problems with his hands since he was a kid. For all of the issues he faced, he preferred slipjoints and old timey knives. Born in the 30s, growing up during the depression and WW2, he still enjoyed himself, but appreciated the old ways the older he got. I'm starting to recognize that. Anyway, he decided to carry a small two blade knife, even with his gigantic hands and possible Parkinsons. Now that I think back on it, I'd like to say it was a peanut, but I am not sure. I gave him a few knives, he gave me a few, including his Case clasp style knife from the Improved Order of Redmen that his Baltimore chapter had made by Parker Cutlery, he was the first actual American Indian member, and sachem, of the group.
I've been thinking about him since he passed several months ago, thinking about Peanut, Peewee, Emma, Blackie the cat and his little kitten that rode with him everywhere he went on his motorized wheelchair. I should have visited him more, not many people did, his family was all gone out here, the remaining ones had moved out west. He was a well known character at my workplace. Most might not have known him by name, but they knew who you were talking about when you put your hand way above your head.
Thinking about his old pup, Peanut, I've decided that these little peanut knives are much like him. Small but resilient, don't take any guff from anyone, will surprise you with their abilities. The peanut pattern embodies the Jack Russell breed. I am a dyed in the wool retriever man since day one, when an old golden retriever named Sunny watched out for me, all the way through the pups over the years to my pups now. I do have to say that the Jack Russell breed would be the one that would make me want to stray from the labs and goldens out there. One of my fathers friends had a Jack Russell that was the dominant male, amongst his pits, rotts and dobermans. A Jack Russell!
In my pocket, amongst the larger jacks and trappers and one hand openers, the peanut rules supreme.
Peanut was a Jack Russell. One night, someone broke into my buddy's rowhome looking for drugs. My buddy had horrible knees and balance, but that didn't stop him from fighting back, and so did Peanut. Neighbors in the close knit Baltimore community had to pull Joe and his dog off the guy.
Joe and I became good friends, really bonded over our love of good food and traveling. That and I sat and listened to all of Joes tall tales, many of which I learned later on were actually true, similar to the end of the movie Big Fish, from the people that were there. Peanut was there for most of the ones that happened in the last 20 years. Joe was bigger than life at 6'9" and 400 lbs most of his life. Peanut ruled the roost, his little brother Peewee and later his sister Emma looked to him as the leader of the pack. Peanut wouldn't let anyone else up in my buddy's lap, but when Emma came along, he let her get on my buddys electric wheelchair, and later a kitten my buddy took in. Whenever I would stop to visit, my buddy would be sitting in his backyard, with all three dogs and the kitten on his chair or on him, with his older cat sunning itself nearby. Just like me, my buddy's dogs would not leave him alone. Of course, our love of food, Peanut knew he would get a good meal, and waited patiently each time I brought a salad, subs, pizza, whatever. As the years progressed, both Joe and Peanut got worse, until finally one day, Peanut ran out into a cold winter night. All the neighbors looked for him, I looked for him and went down to console my buddy. He and the little dog had literally been through it all together. They never found him. A couple years ago my buddy just took a turn for the worse with his ailments. Due to those and his size, and dementia creeping in, he went into a hospice. Peewee was taken in by a friend and Emma was adopted by a nurse. They visited him off and on, I don't know what happened to them. Soon after he went into the hospice, I had my accident, and saw him a few times afterward, much to my constant regret that it wasn't more often.
We developed our friendship over knives and guns and other fun tools, and I gave him a few one hand openers, because he had had problems with his hands since he was a kid. For all of the issues he faced, he preferred slipjoints and old timey knives. Born in the 30s, growing up during the depression and WW2, he still enjoyed himself, but appreciated the old ways the older he got. I'm starting to recognize that. Anyway, he decided to carry a small two blade knife, even with his gigantic hands and possible Parkinsons. Now that I think back on it, I'd like to say it was a peanut, but I am not sure. I gave him a few knives, he gave me a few, including his Case clasp style knife from the Improved Order of Redmen that his Baltimore chapter had made by Parker Cutlery, he was the first actual American Indian member, and sachem, of the group.
I've been thinking about him since he passed several months ago, thinking about Peanut, Peewee, Emma, Blackie the cat and his little kitten that rode with him everywhere he went on his motorized wheelchair. I should have visited him more, not many people did, his family was all gone out here, the remaining ones had moved out west. He was a well known character at my workplace. Most might not have known him by name, but they knew who you were talking about when you put your hand way above your head.
Thinking about his old pup, Peanut, I've decided that these little peanut knives are much like him. Small but resilient, don't take any guff from anyone, will surprise you with their abilities. The peanut pattern embodies the Jack Russell breed. I am a dyed in the wool retriever man since day one, when an old golden retriever named Sunny watched out for me, all the way through the pups over the years to my pups now. I do have to say that the Jack Russell breed would be the one that would make me want to stray from the labs and goldens out there. One of my fathers friends had a Jack Russell that was the dominant male, amongst his pits, rotts and dobermans. A Jack Russell!
In my pocket, amongst the larger jacks and trappers and one hand openers, the peanut rules supreme.
Last edited:
