Just a few years ago, at just about bedtime, my dog, Patches, said that he needed to go out and pee. Now I know that some of you are skeptical that “Patches” could say anything, but you’d be mistaken.
Patches was an American Foxhound and he was one of the smartest dogs that I’ve ever had the pleasure to know.
The American Foxhound (or Walker)
When he had to go out and go potty he would go and stand at the door and look back at you, shake his large floppy ears, then look to see if you got the message. If not then he would turn and look directly at you and shake his head, flopping his ears, and then, stair directly at you and wait for a response. When you asked if he needed to go potty, he’d trot back to the door and wait for you to open it for him.
Patches 1997-2011
Again, on this particular night, Patches told me that he needed to go out. I was ready for bed, and was dressed only in my oversized terrycloth robe, and nothing else. So I donned my boots and opened the door. Patches was quiet capable of going out on his own and returning to the door when he wanted back in, but I went out with him to check on my farm animals and make sure that everything was secure.
As I opened the door, Patches blew past me, and turned the corner of the house. Very unusual behavior for him, since he usually did his business in the front yard. I was fairly close behind him and when I rounded the corner of the house, I got hit, with a direct blast of musk from a skunk. Patches, who had arrived there before me, had obviously taken a direct hit to the face, he was furiously rubbing his muzzle with both front paws, trying to clear his eyes, which he did in a matter of seconds. The skunk had made a critical misjudgment, and a lethal error.
Patches was bred for hunting predators, he was fearless and lethal, as soon as he cleared his eyes, he was off after the skunk. I was not as quick, having taken a shot to the entire front of my robe. And I was unarmed. I ran back to the front door and grabbed the gun that is always hanging in a holster on a coat rack just inside the door. Alerting everyone in the house that we were after a skunk, not by my voice but apparently by my smell. I ran back around the house and into the back yard space, shedding the robe as I ran.
There is a small barn just past the back corner of the house that some of my goats were sleeping in. Patches had chased the skunk into the shed and straight into a herd of sleeping goats. The skunk was now in the middle of chaos, and did the only thing that he could, he fired another blast, right into the face of a startled wither named Ozzy.
Ozzy is a bit of a sissy, crybaby, half dwarf and part fainter. And true to form, he came unglued, running out of the barn screaming bloody murder and flopping like a fish out of water all over the place.
Meanwhile Patches had chased the skunk out of the barn, and had cornered him right next to my brick house, and under a pile of lumber that was stacked on cement blocks
I finally catch up to the mayhem, completely naked, except for my boots and a 9mm pistol. Patches had the skunk cornered and wasn’t going anywhere. Ozzy was laying on his side in the yard screaming like he was dying, and I had the wrong gun.
Shooting a 9mm at a skunk and into the corner of bricks and concrete is a very risky business, especially when your naked. But a 9mm is a rather large caliber gun and much to much firepower for a skunk. It’s a bit of an overkill, literally.
Patches had the skunk under control and Ozzy was beyond my help for the moment. So , I ran back into the house, grabbed a more appropriate gun, a 22 caliber rifle , and ran back around the house to kill the skunk.
Having accomplished the mission, killing the skunk, I now had to deal with the aftermath. My middle daughter usually sleeps in her bedroom that is in that corner of the house, but not that night! Because I had just killed a skunk right under her bedroom window and the room now smelled like skunk.
Patches and I were not welcome back into the house without a good scrubbing, and the now near catatonic Ozzy had to be washed and consoled. So, I went back to the door and begged my wife for the appropriate cleaning agents. I exchanged the gun for a bucket and a pair of pants.
So now, Patches and I get to carry Ozzy and a bucket of chemicals (and pants), out to the farthest barn. The one near the woods, about a quarter mile from the house, which is apparently just past the range of smell. And spend some quality time bathing together. Did I mention that goats are kin to camels and hate water.They don't even like to drink it!
Oh what memories!
.
Patches was an American Foxhound and he was one of the smartest dogs that I’ve ever had the pleasure to know.
The American Foxhound (or Walker)
When he had to go out and go potty he would go and stand at the door and look back at you, shake his large floppy ears, then look to see if you got the message. If not then he would turn and look directly at you and shake his head, flopping his ears, and then, stair directly at you and wait for a response. When you asked if he needed to go potty, he’d trot back to the door and wait for you to open it for him.
Patches 1997-2011
Again, on this particular night, Patches told me that he needed to go out. I was ready for bed, and was dressed only in my oversized terrycloth robe, and nothing else. So I donned my boots and opened the door. Patches was quiet capable of going out on his own and returning to the door when he wanted back in, but I went out with him to check on my farm animals and make sure that everything was secure.
As I opened the door, Patches blew past me, and turned the corner of the house. Very unusual behavior for him, since he usually did his business in the front yard. I was fairly close behind him and when I rounded the corner of the house, I got hit, with a direct blast of musk from a skunk. Patches, who had arrived there before me, had obviously taken a direct hit to the face, he was furiously rubbing his muzzle with both front paws, trying to clear his eyes, which he did in a matter of seconds. The skunk had made a critical misjudgment, and a lethal error.
Patches was bred for hunting predators, he was fearless and lethal, as soon as he cleared his eyes, he was off after the skunk. I was not as quick, having taken a shot to the entire front of my robe. And I was unarmed. I ran back to the front door and grabbed the gun that is always hanging in a holster on a coat rack just inside the door. Alerting everyone in the house that we were after a skunk, not by my voice but apparently by my smell. I ran back around the house and into the back yard space, shedding the robe as I ran.
There is a small barn just past the back corner of the house that some of my goats were sleeping in. Patches had chased the skunk into the shed and straight into a herd of sleeping goats. The skunk was now in the middle of chaos, and did the only thing that he could, he fired another blast, right into the face of a startled wither named Ozzy.
Ozzy is a bit of a sissy, crybaby, half dwarf and part fainter. And true to form, he came unglued, running out of the barn screaming bloody murder and flopping like a fish out of water all over the place.
Meanwhile Patches had chased the skunk out of the barn, and had cornered him right next to my brick house, and under a pile of lumber that was stacked on cement blocks
I finally catch up to the mayhem, completely naked, except for my boots and a 9mm pistol. Patches had the skunk cornered and wasn’t going anywhere. Ozzy was laying on his side in the yard screaming like he was dying, and I had the wrong gun.
Shooting a 9mm at a skunk and into the corner of bricks and concrete is a very risky business, especially when your naked. But a 9mm is a rather large caliber gun and much to much firepower for a skunk. It’s a bit of an overkill, literally.
Patches had the skunk under control and Ozzy was beyond my help for the moment. So , I ran back into the house, grabbed a more appropriate gun, a 22 caliber rifle , and ran back around the house to kill the skunk.
Having accomplished the mission, killing the skunk, I now had to deal with the aftermath. My middle daughter usually sleeps in her bedroom that is in that corner of the house, but not that night! Because I had just killed a skunk right under her bedroom window and the room now smelled like skunk.
Patches and I were not welcome back into the house without a good scrubbing, and the now near catatonic Ozzy had to be washed and consoled. So, I went back to the door and begged my wife for the appropriate cleaning agents. I exchanged the gun for a bucket and a pair of pants.
So now, Patches and I get to carry Ozzy and a bucket of chemicals (and pants), out to the farthest barn. The one near the woods, about a quarter mile from the house, which is apparently just past the range of smell. And spend some quality time bathing together. Did I mention that goats are kin to camels and hate water.They don't even like to drink it!
Oh what memories!
.
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