I have had several dogs over the years but have been without one for the past 15 years, deciding the trouble and heartbreak when they die was not worth it. Then a new dog adopted me.
A few months ago a black dog showed up at my barn. This barn is about a quarter mile from the nearest road and I had no idea how the dog got there. I ignored it and refused to pet it, feed it or even talk to it. The dog did not care, it greeted me with wagging tail and smiling face every time I drove up.
For two weeks I was able to avoid the attraction of such a friendly dog. It was a sleek black 60 pound dog that looked like it had some lab in it but also some other mixtures, too. It loved to run along side my truck as I went to the ponds to feed the fish, but always headed back to the barn when I locked the gate and left.
I finally gave in and bought a food bowl, food and a collar for it. As I drove up to the barn with the food, the dog came running out as usual. He must have fallen because I felt my back tire bump over him. Just knowing he was hurt badly, I picked up my pistol and opened the door, ready to put him out of his misery if he was not already dead.
The dog was standing there, wagging his tail down low like they do when confused, looking at me like he was saying “Why did you do that?” He was a little shaky and I could see skinned places on his hips and stomach where the tire ran over him. When he walked over to the edge of the woods and passed blood in his urine, I was sure he did not have long to live.
The next day as I drove up the dog came running out to the truck, wagging his tail and bouncing around like nothing ever happened. I loaded him up and took him to the vet, and he passed all the test they ran on him. The vet said a dog’s hips were about the only place you could run over them and not kill them.
I should have named him “Lucky” I guess, but decided on the name “Rip” because of the way he shredded everything loose around the barn. There is still yellow insulation everywhere from a bat of it that I thought he would use for a bed.
Rip likes to wade out into the edge of the pond when I am feeding the fish and eat any catfish food that floats near him. I think he likes fish food a lot better than his dog food. Since it has gotten hot he has learned to sit in the water and cool off while eating.
When I catch a bream Rip goes crazy. He seems to want to lick the fish, but if I try to let him have it he backs off. If I put them back in the water he looks at the spot where they disappeared and gives me a look like I am some magician, making fish disappear like that.
A couple of times I have put a small bream down on the ground and Rip will pick it up by the fins and walk around with it. I have no idea what he thinks he is doing and I always take the fish away from him and release it before it is harmed.
Rip never met anybody, or anything, he didn’t like. Every person that comes near gets his tail wagging and a happy greeting. He even likes cats, he will run up to them and wag his tail, wanting to play. My cats don’t want to play but as long as they don’t run he will leave them alone. When they run he chases them, but so far has not caught one.
Rip loves to ride in the back of my truck and runs and jumps in just about any time the tailgate is down. With ears and tongue flopping in the breeze he watches where we are going over the side of the truck. But once we get to the farm he wants to get out and run, refusing to get back into the truck until I lock the gate on the way home.
I guess I am stuck with Rip now. It seems strange to go anywhere without him. So far I have avoided taking him fishing like I did my first two dogs, and I don’t plan on taking him along. He is just a little too active for a 20 foot bass boat.
If you have a dog you know what it is like to have a friend that totally loves you and asks for nothing in return. If you don’t have a dog, you are missing out on one of the great, simple pleasures of life. If you do have one, treat it with the love and respect that it shows you.
