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Old Dogs & Broncos and Water Smelling Wine
By: Richard Flewelling (aka th'' BroncoBuster) - 20020112
I can hardly recall a time
when I've left my house in my Bronco, "OBULLIT", that I haven't received a
high complement of one sort or another on it. That covers a lot of time (some 28
years now) and almost half of my lifetime. (OK, OK…. So I'm 60! still think
I'm 30, though! "In your Dreams!" echos my wife, Jo Anne. Well, anyway, like
the old guy in the commercial with the EB that responds when asked, if he
remembers what it was like to be younger with a "vigorous and knowing": "I do!"…
I say,… "I do", too! )
Remarks from the uninitiated (never owned one)
reflect how Cool it looks, how Great & "Healthy" it sounds, and generally
how much "fun" it must be to have such a vehicle. 'n "Y'wanna sell it?
What'll ya take for it?" ; Remarks from former owners usually reflect "…used to
have one…. #@*#*%# it!!.. should NEVER have sold it!!!… wish I still had it!!….
and; retorts from current Early Bronco owners usually state simply…. "BITCHIN!!!
Don't you just LOVE that Bronco?" To which I smugly reply…
"E-E-YUP!!!!"
All of those complements, to a proud owner of such a
vehicle such as I, are held with high esteem and greatly prized. But, I must
say, some of the Highest Kudos of praise came from one of my dearest friends and
loyal companion, a four legged 'n hairy chap by the name of
"TUFFY"!
Tuffy (a Great Dane) was my dog. And here is his story:
My
whole life, I grew up with a dog at my side. Sometimes they were of good breed
(I had several purebred Lab's) and other times they were merely a "Heinz!" (57
varieties y'know). All of them earned chapters of fond memories with me. Except
for my stint in the Marines and College, it seems I never went for long without
having a dog. (One exception in the Marines in Viet Nam, was the Unit Mascot:
"7" (that was his name) but "HE" is a story of his own.)
During a period
of "dog-less" years right after college in the early '70's, I came home to a
houseful of crying kids and a teary-eyed wife. My normally peaceful and happy
family was in a state of unusual distress and of course, as I entered the scene,
wild imagination took over. "Ok, Ok, tell me what's going on!" I query while
counting noses and making sure all my family was present and
intact!
"Rusty is dead! Cries my youngest daughter, Mikelle. "And Tuffy
is dying too! Boo Hoo Hoo Hoo!….."
My wife and oldest Daughter, Tara, nod
in teary, red-eyed unison, affirming the fact, and everyone starts talking, and
crying at the same time, telling me what had been going on…
"Rusty", an
Irish Sitter, and "Tuffy", a young Great Dane, were the dogs of a neighbor of
mine, a few doors up the street. My neighbor (we'll call him Phil) had
purchased these dogs from breeders and for a while seemed to treat them well.
They were well adjusted, lovable, and adored children. Phil would on occasion
allow Rusty off his tether to play with the kids in the neighborhood and at the
school playground across the fence from his back yard. Tuffy was still pretty
young and wasn't given free rein, but was no threat to anyone.
It seemed
that Phil was going through some crisis in his life, a divorce, drug abuse,
unemployment, etc… and would take off for days at a time, leaving his dogs tied
up and without care. Time of absence and neglect took its toll. I found Rusty,
still tied to the back porch. His emaciated body and blank stare from now
unseeing eyes, appeared to be watching the children he loved to play and romp
with in the schoolyard across the fence. "Oh, man! How could anyone…….?", I
thought while covering Rusty and directing my attention to Tuffy. "I don't care
how much trouble ya got, ya can't do this!!!" I thought, and wishing I had Phil
by the neck.
When I first looked at him, I thought he had shared Rusty's
fate…death by dehydration & starvation. But as I approached, Tuffy raised
his weakened head and looked at me. I wanted to go to him, but, Hey! This is
still a Big dog. I couldn't be sure if in his starved condition he might
mistake me for food. He had a choker and chain on him and had wrapped himself
around a tree, short-shanking himself from his food (what there was of
it).
As he directed his look from me, he re-directed it to one piece of
Dog Kibble that was lying just out of his reach on the ground. He pawed at it…
He was telling me he was Hungry!!! "Help"!!! I reached over and put it into his
reach and took one at a time from the ground that had spilled from his bowl and
gave him some more. I inched his water to him so that he could drink, just a
little at a time. (I didn't want him to get sick and injure himself internally
in his weakened condition). As I was able to get a small amount of food and
water down him, I realized he was no danger to me. At one juncture, he refused
the food, laid his head on my lap, and licked my hand in appreciation. That did
it! He was coming home with me! I'd deal with Phil later.
I took the
choker off and carried him to my house. My wife and kids made him a nice bed in
the living-room where we could nurse him back to health.
Tuffy's
recovery was remarkable. Soon he had his strength back, and… his appetite. He
was still a growing boy and had the appetite to match. Because of the poor
feeding care he had as a young puppy, he would never develop his full size and
bulk, plus his teeth took a hit from the malnutrition and never grew to full
size. But that didn't matter. He could still buzz up a bone in good shape and
anything with-in reach was fair game to him. Even in spite of his short-comings,
Tuffy grew to a formidable size and was intimidating to all other dogs, and ….
Neighbors, meter-readers, paper-boys, door to door salespersons, prowlers,
cats….. But not to me, nor to children. Tuffy loved kids, and the kids, by some
mystical means, knew it.
Tuffy also loved my Bronco. To Tuffy, OBULLIT,
was HIS! It seemed that he allowed ME in it only because I was the guy that made
it go! Tuffy could not refuse a ride in OBULLIT.
Because of his size, I
was encouraged by all neighbors to keep him chained up. It seemed that everyone
seemed to fear that Tuffy might regress from his early feeding abuses and might
be tempted to "eat" one of the neighborhood children. I humored them and kept
him tethered.
The "big guy" had about 40 feet or so of chain tied to a
200 pound dog-house that he could actually drag around the side of the house.
From my easy-chair in the house, I could watch him through a window and monitor
what activity he might be "raising a ruckus" over.
On one occasion, I was
put in charge of watching one of my wife's girl-friends kids (about 18 months
old or so) while the girls went shopping. I was reading an interesting article
in an off-road magazine and vaguely remember the kid mentioning "Tuffy"…. I
didn't hear him slip out the door and make his way around to the side of the
house. All of a sudden, I hear Tuffy…. "GROUWOUFF!!! WOOF!! WOOF!!" accompanied
by the sound of the "run-out" of his chain, supplemented by the panicked
"A-A-A-A-A-G-G-H-H-H!!!" being screamed by the errant paper-boy, using the side
of my unfenced yard as a short-cut.
As I glance out the window, I see the
paperboy peddling like mad with Tuffy gaining ground. The paperboy decides to
bail off the bike and make an attempt to dive over my neighbors fence, and
safety. In the meantime, the little kid is simultaneously walking down astraddle
the chain (which is being rapidly run up and soon to be very taught and, about
two feet off the ground, once Tuffy's 100+ lbs runs it out!) I read the kids
lips "Here Tuffy, Tuffy, Tuffy"…. And TWANG!! Up comes the chain! The kid is
about six feet in the air. The paperboy makes it over the fence, and safety.
Tuffy does a 180, quickly & tongue out!! (he's out of chain, remember?) the
kid does about three flips (thwip! thwip! thwip!..and then, a power-dive into
the ground! "Ba-womp!!"… I crap! (elapsed time… about two seconds!!)
When
I clear the corner of the house outside, I expect to see a disaster! But, I see
a little kid giggling and romping with a big happy pooch licking his face! No
apparent damage to either. (paperboy? not to be seen! The bike? laid there for
days)
Once I am relieved of my child-watching duties, I figure it's time
to exercise Tuffy. There's a big open range on some the hills nearby and I
usually took Tuffy up there in the Bronco about once a week to let him "air
himself out". (maybe that was where the start of his affection for the Bronco
began).
The Bronco always was parked in the driveway and whenever I
decided to take Tuffy for a ride, I had to make sure the passenger side window
was wide open, if not the door. Because, when I cut Tuffy loose from his chain
and said "Lets go for a Ride!" Z-O-O-O-M! Off he would go! Around the house!
Around the trees! Making a wide and proper approach to the Bronco, tongue out
and smiling. If the passenger side door was open, he'd land on the seat in a
single bound and crash into the driver side door inside. (I had both doors open
once and he sailed right on through). If the door was closed, he'd sail right
through the window (it had better be open) and never even touch the paint! (He
WAS rough on seats and seat covers though. I went through seat covers and seats
at a rate of about two or three a year)
Once he was in, it was "Let's
go!" telegraphed by a lot of barking, groaning, growling, whining, tail wagging
and animations. He absolutely loved that Bronco!
If he ever got loose
from his tether at home, all I had to do was to go out and start up the Bronco,
give those Hooker Headers a chance to "Bark" a little, and here he would come! I
had Better take him for a ride, or else… (would be the look he would give me). I
usually did. He was great company. I think he enjoyed that Bronco as much as I
did. (Heck, sometimes I'd let him loose just so I'd have an excuse to go for a
ride myself.)
One day he got loose from his chain and made it to the
hills all by himself. I looked all over the neighborhood and finally one of the
neighbors said they thought they saw him up there. I drove up and sure enough,
there he was. Unfortunately, a couple of teenage girls were riding double on
their pony up there that day and Tuffy spied them. He had never seen a horse
before and decided to check it out. I guess the horse had never seen a Great
Dane before and was curious about him too. They circled each other a few times,
each ignoring our pleas to separate them. (the "Whoa's " from the girls and the
"C'mon Tuffy, lets go!" from me.)
Whelp! The horse decides it's time
to show Tuffy who's boss and decides to kick him. He made an attempt, missed
and Tuffy decides to take matters into his own hands! (er, paws) I swear I saw
him grin, circle and take a bite at the horse's belly! E-I-Y-E-E-E-E-E
H-E-H-E-H-E-H!!! goes the horse while rearing up high, shucking the two girls
cleanly from it's bare back and dropping them unceremoniously on their
backsides. Then off they went! The horse at a flat-out run with a periodic kick
directed at Tuffy, and Tuffy working the horse like a hunting wolf, ignoring my
yells to stop, and soon out of sight over the crest of the hill.
I looked
for an hour with the Bronco. I was sure he would come when he heard us coming. I
also worried about the lawsuit that I was sure to be in. I finally saw him
walking down the street, between two houses at the bottom of the hill. Some guy
was following him and I imagined it was the parent of one of the kids and owner
of the horse with a pistol in his pocket to take revenge on my dog (and me) for
damaging his kids and running his horse to death.
I blitzed down the hill
in the Bronco and made my way up the street to where I last saw them. I "rapped"
the headers a couple of times and ol Tuffy was too tuckered to make it through
the window. I got out and opened the door and he couldn't even manage to crawl
up and in. He got his front paws up but could only paw the air with one hind
leg, but not get in. I had to give him a lift and a shove to get him in. (it was
actually pretty funny when I think about it) The guy, whomever he was, says
"Mister! You shoulda seen it! That dog ran up and grabbed that horse by the nose
and flipped him clean over! The horse just gave up! The dog just "sniffed" him
once, and then walked away! I never saw anything like it!" shaking his head back
and forth, side to side.
When I found the horse, the girls were there and
only their "pride" was hurt. I told them to cool him down by walking him for at
least an hour. He had no apparent damage and I was sure he would be OK. I gave
the kids my name and number (I think it was Phil's [just kidding]) and took
Tuffy and OBULLIT home. No suit followed so I guess the horse lived. (His tongue
was out quite a ways though.)
Over the years, Tuffy became my constant
companion on my Bronco forays. My family tolerated my passion for the desert and
mountains and never minded my going without them, most of the time. I welcomed
Tuffy's company. He loved it as well.
Maybe it was my imagination, but
Tuffy developed quite "vocabulary". The long and intimate trips we had together
seemed to allow us to develop a working vocabulary of body language, words and
gestures on my part, and; vocal gyrations, whines, snorts, growls and gestures
on Tuffy's part. We could pretty much make each other understand what it was we
were trying to get across to each other.
We also shared a common
past-time… the consumption of food! I've been known to pack away my fare share
of chow and Tuffy was no slouch either. Both of us had stomach's of steel, we
could get away with eating practically "anything". And… with similar usual
digestive consequences.
As a result, I also learned that it was prudent
on my part to choose wisely what foods we were going to eat on long trips, as
certain bodily functions would prevail if the choice was poor. Particularly, if
we were to be closed up during inclimate weather for any length of time. (I
learned of his "similarity of bodily functions" one night at home while allowing
him to stay inside the house during a particularly nasty evening weather-wise.
Tuffy had found an unguarded bowl of barbeque sauce that I had inadvertently
left out. He managed to get the whole mess down then came into the bedroom and
lie down. After a while, he blessed us with some "champion" "out-gassing" that
would have made a tuba-player proud of his notes, and Pepe le'Pue proud of his
essence.)
I should have learned early-on that unguarded food was fair
prey for Tuffy. He managed to "inhale" half of a left-over turkey in one swoop
off the table after the girls had picked down the carcass and left it
unprotected. He sucked it out from under the Seran-Wrap that covered it so
deftly that it was hardly disturbed when he was done. The only bodily functions
on that encounter were some pretty vocal belches and burps afterwards. (he did
snarf it down pretty good)
Some of my camping buddies and I were not so
fortunate on one particular trip. I had made up some of my "Killer" Chili for
the trip (big batch) and Lee Schaben had brought a big pan of Lasagna to share
with everyone. Since the weather was pretty chilly, we all thought some "spicy"
stuff might go well with the occasion. "Slim-Jims, Jerkey, Corn-Chips & Bean
Dip" during the day and all those good "side-dishes" to go with whatever each of
us were going to barbeque that night, washed down with beer and "snake-bite".
We didn't finish it all the first night and still had some left over
for the second. There wasn't really enough of either to bother saving for the
third night so-o-o…. we let Tuffy have the pans to lick clean.
Ho-o-o Boy
did he like that! First good meal he had the whole trip (if you read his
gestures) He would take a hit on the chili, give a look of appreciation to
everyone, saunter over to his water pan (slurp! Slurp! slurp! slurp!…) saunter
over to the lasagna pan and nibble, nibble, nibble; lick his chops, give
everyone an appreciative look; saunter over to the water again (repeat, repeat,
repeat) Eventually, he had enough and went over to the bed I had made up for
him. (it was an old furniture packing blanket) He'd walk around in circles a
few times, let out a groan and lie down, then take deep breath and emit a gasp.
Soon, he was fast asleep, snoring like a trooper. Lee says chuckling, "He's
gonna remember That meal!" He did! So did we.
Later that evening, all of
us heard Tuffy get up, wander over to those two pans, take a hit on each of
them, drink some water, then head back to his bed, lying down after several
circle-walking laps on his bed, dog tags clinkling, then collapsing with a great
sigh of contentment and groan from his "fullness".
He did this several
times then "chemistry" started to take over. First a pffft! Then a pffrrrtt!
Then B-R-R-R-T-T-T! Then a groan or two followed by a series of pffft's,
pffrrt's and mighty B-R-R-R-R-I-I-T-T-T'S with many variations. He had us all
awake and laughing at him hysterically. I think we all pretty much "lost it".
Poor Tuffy was miserable! I got up and mixed him up a big batch of Bi-carbonate
of Soda and put it into his pan for him to drink.
While I was mixing it
up, he pulled another one of his stunts of which he was prone to do. That was to
"take over" my nice and warm sleeping bag, if ever I got out of it, and snuggle
up into it. Yep! He did it! Getting all nice and comfy in my bag, he "cuts" a
great big one. He did a good job of it and if you know what "stale" ones are
about, he eventually inherited that particular bag for himself. (unfortunately
for me, not until a subsequent trip)
Tuffy's "toots" were kinda one of
his "character" signatures. I know that a lot of what brought them on was what I
was feeding him. I guess we kinda "kill 'em with Kindness". The "treats", if ya
wanna call 'em that, never seemed to bother him health-wise. But it sure did
(ahem), "vocally". (he had quite a Repertoire of variations) He once blew me
right out my door once while riding with is head out his window and his, er,
"fanny" in my right ear. (I couldn't get out fast enough) He seemed "proud" to
have "put one up" on me. As I lay there in the sand of the wash looking up at
him with teary eyes, burning nostrils and ringing ear, he seemed to be laughing
at me and giving me the "Gotcha!!" look…. God!!! I loved that
Dog!
Tuffy's been gone for some years now, But, not his memory. He lived
a full life, as Dane's go, and I think of him often. Particularly when I'm out
in the Desert or Mountains, sitting quietly by a small campfire with it's glow
flickering and glinting off of OBULLIT… I miss my friend, but I remember
him…
I think of the first time he saw snow and how he reacted to it,
Barking and biting at it. How he loved chasing and digging for snowballs that
seemed to disappear from him in a snow-bank; How he would run through tall
grass, running blindly, with occasional leaps into the air to get directional
bearings; The "terror" that he had during his first Thunderstorm and how I had
to comfort him and reassure him that things were OK; How I spent hours, pulling
cactus thorns from his nose and feet from some hapless encounters or doctored
his feet that were eroded raw from running too long in the sand only to be stung
by the alkali salts in a streambed; his biting at meddlesome flies, and bees and
getting stung; the tomato-juice baths given to counter the "essence of skunk"
that he would sometimes "appear" with; the cold night we spent together in the
front seat of the Bronco during a Blizzard, keeping each other warm;…
I
think of all the dogs that I have had over the years. All of them have been
faithful, loving and caring creatures and I feel Blessed to have them share
their lives with me. But when it comes to the Companionship that was shared with
Tuffy, not to put all the others down but, all the rest are like Fine Wines with
a Bouquet of not much more than that of water.
But remember… We all need
sweet water too.
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