| Author | Message | ||
     Captpete |
As some of y’all might remember, Dewey is my canine partner, a Guam Boonie Dog (stray) that I rescued as a puppy from a litter that was struggling for survival near where I live. He had his fifth birthday in March, and is now closing in on middle age. (I try not to think about how soon he will be passing me in relative age, even as ancient as I am. But that’s the deal you make as part of your commitment to one of these wonderful beasts; you will most likely outlive them, and have to bid them farewell at some point.) So I try to concentrate on the joy of the present. I’ve often commented that Dewey makes me laugh every day at least once. But he’s finally mellowed out a good bit. He no longer nags me incessantly to play at something by biting my toes, bumping me with his nose, or just patiently standing there, staring at me with that expectant look on his face. These days he just flops down in any number of those typical canine positions of repose, and waits. I wish I had his patience. But all I have to do is to make a slight movement, and he’s up on all fours, ready for whatever the coming action may be. And there are other stimuli that will catapult him into action as well. The two vignettes that follow are a consequence of one of those other major stimuli, and thus fall under the heading of… The Predator Dewey can’t help it; it’s simply instinct, and has been passed along in his genes for eons. If it’s smaller that he thinks he is, it must be chased. But sometimes, it doesn’t work out exactly as he planned, and although he might not have thought it particularly funny, both of these incidents caused me to laugh out loud. The first has to do with a fighting •••• (kock), which are legal to fight in Guam, and that’s the basis for the 67 million feral chickens living on Guam, 500 thousand of which live within earshot of where I reside, and there isn’t a damned one of them that has any idea of when dawn is; the roosters crow around the clock. But, I digress. One of my neighbors keeps a fighting ••••. Most of the time it lives in a cage, or is chained to a cinder block. But occasionally it either escapes or they turn it loose for a while, and it wanders around the parking area. It’s evidently quite tame. I live in one half of a duplex, located in what is here called a Filipino family compound, and am their token haole resident. Both sides have a little carport in front of their front doors. And there is a privacy wall that separates the two carports. When I go out the front door, I can look to my left and see the next unit and the parking area. But if I look to the right, the privacy wall is in the way of my view, and I must walk about ten feet before I can see what’s going on in that direction. When Dewey and I leave in the morning to head for the boat, he has a strict routine. As soon as I open the front door, he blasts past me out into the carport, and six feet later skids to a stop so that he can check the windowsill to be sure that the black compound cat is not hanging out there. It’s been two years since the last time that cat was on the windowsill, but Dewey has a good memory and he’s not taking any chances. But this particular morning, the •••• was standing in the middle of the parking area, Dewey spied him as soon as he was out the door, and he forgot all about the cat. A bird in the hand, you know. (This being a family-oriented board, I decided to not get specific about the particular bird in the hand for this story. Heck... I'm even getting busted for using this particular word in an acceptable context.) Two steps out of the door, Dewey kicked it up to full throttle, the •••• saw him coming, turned to the right toward his home turf, and went out of my view. The last I saw of Dewey he was in the middle of a hard right turn, claws scraping, and almost low-siding on the concrete while in hot pursuit. Well, the last thing I needed was a chicken-killing dog, so I decided that I’d better get out into the parking area and reign Dewey in before disaster struck. But first, I had to cover that ten feet to clear the privacy wall so that I could see what was going on, all the while hoping it wouldn’t be a bunch of feathers floating in the air. As soon as I cleared the wall, there was Dewey, four feet away; ears laid back, and heading right for me at full military thrust. And two feet behind him was the rooster; down close to the ground, neck stretched straight out forward, feathers puffed up making him look twice his normal size, and wings flapping. He was in full after burner. And he was gaining on Dewey. Before I could even process all this, Dewey shot between my legs, made a skidding left turn, and was back inside the house. A second later, I was doubled up laughing. Discretion is the better part of valor. The second incident has to do with that black compound cat. Dewey and I were on the patio at the back of the house, under the rain/sun canopy, and having a quiet afternoon. I was in my rocking chair reading and Dewey was snoozing at my feet. I first noticed the cat out of the corner of my eye. He had been walking along the sidewalk next to the house, and had just come into my view when reaching the patio. My only movement when spotting him had been my eyes, he was still unaware that Dewey and I were even there, and continued strolling along toward the back of the lot where there is a high chain-link fence just beyond my tropical garden. One of the plants in my garden is a young lime tree, maybe two and a half feet high, and more like a bush than a tree at this age. Way too young to bear fruit, but plenty old enough to be covered with deadly two-inch thorns. That portion of my garden is a little stunted as the chase that was about to ensue was pretty much routine, and every time it occurred, one of the plants would get badly mauled as Dewey ignored everything in his path. The cat would come through the yard, Dewey would see him, and the chase would be on. The cat would shoot through the garden and up the chain-link fence with Dewey in hot pursuit. But it was never even a close race, and always ended the same. The cat would reach the top of the chain-link fence and then nonchalantly stretch himself out, with his tail hanging down and twitching, like some kind of fishing lure. Dewey would plow through the garden and end up sitting at the bottom of the fence, where the pair would stare at one another for twenty minutes or so, the cat taunting him, as he knew he was in a position of safety. Eventually the cat would get bored and stroll away along the top of the fence into the neighbor’s yard. But this time it was a little different. Dewey tried to plow through the little lime tree, which wasn’t nearly as supple as the other plants. It bent a little, but was still strong enough to support his weight. He got half way over it, and then bogged down. Maybe it was the drag created by all those thorns. They’re sharp as hell, and have hurt me a bunch of times when I’ve gotten too close. Dewey finally lost momentum with his front feet planted on the ground on the far side of the little tree, but his hind legs were still six inches above the ground. And that’s when it started to get funny. He was still 100% focused on getting to the fence, evidently full of adrenalin from the chase and feeling no pain from the thorns. He just hung there with his back feet off the ground, front feet firmly on the ground, but still trying to run, his back legs steady pumping as if he were riding a bicycle. Just like a truck high-centered on the rear axle with the back wheels spinning. He must have done that for a full minute before realizing that he was stuck, every second looking more and more like a Disney cartoon. It lasted long enough for me to drop my book in fits of laughter. Especially when he realized he was stuck, stopped trying to run, and turned to look at his back legs to see what the problem was. He finally dug his front claws into the ground and drug himself clear of the bush. I wish I had a video of it. I didn’t think to look at the time, but I’d bet the cat was laughing just as hard as I was. Predator, yes… but more like the gang that couldn’t shoot straight. (Message edited by captpete on May 20, 2009) | ||
| Sleez |
too funny, thanks for sharing! | ||
| Rotzaruck |
Captpete We've all had our "Deweys", you've got me to remembering mine. Dog's can be so funny, and some have a great sense of humor; as long as it's you doing something stupid. When they do it, they gather themselves up and tell you they meant to do that. Thanks for the tales! Rotzaruck! | ||
| Bluzm2 |
Captpete, You are the best! You need to drop in more often and lay some more of your wonderful stories and writing style. When you gonna write that book? Brad | ||
| Court |
Pete: Each of your stories, snippets of daily life, are classics. Keep on keeping them coming . . . they are fabulous and all the best to you. Court | ||
| Captpete |
Well, I hope y'all got a little chuckle for your time spent reading. Dewey's little antics sure brighten up my day when they occur. Hell, he even fell off the dock a couple of weeks ago while a few of us were standing around shooting the breeze. Let his situation awareness slip a little but, took one step backwards beyond the edge of the floating dock, and never recovered. But it's always good to have your partner around. I just grabbed his collar and hauled him back aboard while everyone was laughing... until he got even by giving us all a little shower as he shook himself off. Anyway, thanks for your comments. Always nice to know some folks enjoy the stories. Capt. Pete | ||
| Captpete |
When you gonna write that book? You mean the last half, Brad? As soon as this project turns me into a pauper when I turn my back on it and leave everything behind except Dewey, my laptop, and my guitar. And it's lookin' like it'll be sooner rather than later. (It's only stuff. I don't need any of it.) And besides, that's the best time to write, when you're unhindered by possessions.  (Message edited by Captpete on May 22, 2009) | ||
| Blake |
Great stories Captain, as usual. Made me laugh out loud.  Go Dewey! | ||
| Ebear |
Go Dewey for sure! Great story telling Captain.....My keyboard is now coffee stained. Welcome back! | ||
| Mastros2 |
I really enjoyed the read, thanks Pete! We have are own 'Deweys' and they too are great! | ||
| Road_thing |
Pete! Great to hear from you! Are you catching any fish? rt | ||
| Captpete |
Not really, Tom. Truth be known, I haven't caught enough to feed a sick cat. Been thinking about coming back to the States and getting a job for six months to replenish the coffers. And getting a real job? That's about as low as a professional fisherman can get... other than sinking. (And of course, quitting.) A man's gotta do what he's gotta do.  | ||
| Road_thing |
Hang in there, pal. They'll start biting any day now! rt |
