As another Lame Cherry exclusive in matter anti matter.
As this existence I have screws down into one unbearable turn after another, I am left with memories at time of tears like these, but the problem is that the memories were shitty too in others ruining them. This is the not the complete story of my hunting Irish Setter Dixie, but a story of her and me in three days in November before my brother ruined her and my parents were not parental enough to tell him to keep his hands off my dog.
Before Dixie appeared, I had already named her. I had done numerous hours of research on every breed of dog there were. What good that would have done as I was not going to get anything I wanted anyway, but I was putting in the effort.
The one thing I was certain of is I did not want a black lab. I hated them as everyone had one of those things which were always out of control, except my beloved Uncle who had a yellow lab who made life miserable as no one paid any attention to that poor dog, and I got corncobs, slobbered on and dirty from that dog as she would play fetch until I killed her.......but I never did that as I was kind and would have gotten killed for being a stupid ass for killing a dog in making it fetch itself to death. So I suffered with Sandy every Sunday in the hot summer as there was no place to hide, and no place to bathe as we did not have running water.
Then things happened in a dog appeared or a puppy. Well my dad farted around long enough that I think the dogs would have all been gone, as the owner wanted 35 dollars for these Setters crossed with Golden Retrievers, but I was told I was going to get one.
So on the day of the puppy, I ran up the driveway from the bus as school was another day in 8 hours of hell and another hour of hell on the bus, and blew into the house excited in begging where was the dog and if they got her.
The mother was the biggest head up her ass on the planet as she could find ways to ruin anything a kid could dream of, as she made it sound like they didn't get the dog which just crushed me, as I never had a damn thing and always had to do without. Her excuse was she thought I would see the puppy which had scurried under the table, but like I was going to see anything blinded by exuberance.
She was there though, my Dixie. All legs and big eyes and I can still smell her, feel her silky fur and remember our playtimes as I would lay on the floor, hide my hands under me, and she would dig for all she was worth rooting for them.
She almost died from distemper, and dad said the vet might have to put her down. I of course cried, and with her ulcers in the mouth, her whining as I moved her, I watered and fed her until by prayers she got better.
The vet said she might be half a dog, but if this is what a half a dog was for hunting, the world would have never been able to handle how great she was.
I spent hours walking with her, in teaching here to range in the summer. I worked with her to always hunt close. My brother thought she just turned out that way, but Dixie and I worked together and she learned to hunt and to stay close.
That is where the 3 days in November take place. See it was another shitty winter storm, like 2 feet of snow. The banties we had of course did not go in, but roosted in the tops of the trees, and we had lots of chickens. That is when I got the idea that something had to be done or the chickens would all be dead, that Dixie and I began the Chicken Olympics. Lord God was that a magnificent game. For three nights after school in the dark, Dixie and I with flashlight in hand, would throw snowballs at the chickens, poke at them with sticks and away they would fly like pheasants with Dixie in hot pursuit. In screaming squawks she would pin the chickens down with me on her heels. That dog never had an off switch or ever got tired. She was a delight as we caught chickens after chickens. She got so good at it that she would follow the flashlight in the trees and spot the birds herself.
For those three nights, drenched in sweat, lungs on fire, the shitty world did not matter of all all the love lorn, all the misery, all the poverty, all the loneliness, as me and my dog were bird catching machines. Even typing this now I still smile. I can still hear her barking, see her watching those chickens and then be off like a rocket after them. God how can life be so shitty now, or would it be this shitty now, if I had not known those few moments of all that dog gave to me.
I don't think any stories are perfect as nothing can be when they last for years, but in my not knowing Ruby my other puppy brought numbers of my animals back to me after she died to make peace, and I am glad she did, and I am thankful things got settled with Dixie.
It is not much of a trade in 3 days for all the hell this existence has been, but I did one whole lot of living, not in three days, but in the hours of those three evenings, when the family was all locked away in their sloven hut, not caring about chickens and not wanting to be a part of the world, which I am thankful for or they would have ruined it all.
I think about Heaven and Dixie being there as my dog, as she is, along with all the other animals I imparted the Spirit in me into. Where my treasure is, the golden of the puppies and other animals, is what interests me. I hope it is far away and no one ever appears, as we will have allot of living to do.
Nuff Said
agtG
