It's For Your Own Good...

“It’s For Your Own Good…”

Damn, I hate feelin like a friggin Republican. But that is exactly how my canine companions are makin me feel. That would be Chev (pictured in sidebar), Chandy, and Millie (short for Sinsemilla). Mill was rescued several years ago, from life in one of those little crates. She spent her days in the crate, set out on the porch, because her owners said she was just too much, when left inside the house. They had replaced her with a smaller dog that had the run of the house, and relegated her to the crate. My companions job at that time, took him past the house quite often, and he always spoke to the little dog in the crate. One day the owners were home, and asked if he would like to have her. He went through the motions of callin me, but he knew what I would say, when I heard her story. The previous owners claim she is a registered Jack Russell, but, if so, she is one of the largest ones I have ever seen. I don’t know how she behaved at her first home ( or residence, cause that ain’t no home), but she has never made me regret her joinin my pack. Of course she is active, that is what a terrier is. But she is not destructive. She loves nothing better than goin with her people, whatever the destination, when a vehicle leaves the driveway. She rides on the console and pays better attention to the road ahead than a lot of drivers do. On Friday evenings, as we are leavin the “big” town, 30 miles away, we always swing by the Hardees, to get her a plain burger. The folks at the drive-up window all love her and she gets free burgers now. I wish I could convince them that the chocolate shake is for her, too. Anyways, I must move on. Chev is my big boy, mom was a registered Pyrenees, dad was a ? . He is a big stuffed dog come to life. Chandy is a mix also. Her mom was a registered Pyr also, and they claim the daddy was a black lab. Chan is all white, except for brown freckles on both ears, has medium length straight hair, and the softest muzzle of any dog I have ever known. She is also the largest and youngest of the three. Chev is a clown, and Chan tries to act “above it all”. Except if the other dogs, or any of the cats, gets too close to her food, or chewies. Then they find out really quickly who is Boss Dog, lol. Now back to the reason for my post. We live just off the road that leads to the headquarters building of the federal game reserve. It opens March 15th, so traffic will pick up considerably, since ridin around on the game reserve is a cultural tradition here. Here are a couple of links to info on the game reserve. Last week the backwater from the ohio river began to rise, and that runs the deer and other critters up this way more than usual. Almost every evenin there are groups of them in the field beside the house. So, last week, my pack decides the heck with the fenced-in yard, and they bulldoze their way over it. By the time I notice they are gone (cause this is a biiig fenced in yard), they are out of sight. They were gone all day, and we just happened to spot Chandy, her big white self, as she and Chevy crossed the road, about a mile away, and headed into another field, towards the crossroads called Oscar. As soon as they heard me callin and knew that I could see them, they headed back, down the middle of the road all the way. Thank goodness no traffic at this time of year. I tried scolding, piling stuff up in front of where they went over, and blockin them in the house when I left. Nothing worked, and I was constantly lookin for my dogs. They would eventually return when they got within earshot of my voice, covered in mud and cockleburs, having had the time of their life in the backwater and bottoms, and possibly the game reserve itself. I couldn’t allow this to continue, because sooner rather than later, it would end in a very bad way. At the moment, I can not afford 6 foot fence to replace the 4 foot one. And I will not pen them up in a small enclosure. So, here comes the “It’s for your own good…” part. On Saturday, I make a beeline for one of my favorite stores. Tractor Supply. I just love that place. Seen from the road, if ya didn’t know better, you’d think it was a used pick-up truck lot. When ya walk in the doors, you are greeted with proof positive that we ain’t nowhere near a concrete jungle. First thing I always do is take a really deep breath through the nose. It’s an olfactory delight of sweet feed and leather. I’d know this place blindfolded. No suits or polyester, or even khaki, for the employees. Jeans and t-shirts. Greetings from the cashiers, that you always know at least one of, personally. Display racks by the door with the company’s free publication, “Out Here”. Bein that Easter is fast approachin, there are stuffed bunnies as big as Labradors draped all throughout the store. I want one. We head towards the back of the store, past the overalls, mud and work boots, mower parts, barnyard fowl cages, mineral blocks, sweet feed pallets, and saddle racks. I hate to do this, but…(see title). One electric fence box, roll of the new kinda wire, that is yellow and black nylon rope with the wire twisted through, and step-in, plastic posts. They call this type of fence portable cause all ya have to do is place those posts and thread the “tape”. No more drivin metal posts and foolin with those damned insulators. Back to the front, to the check-out. While standin in line the neighboring cashier, tells us my companion’s brother was in yesterday, and I’m sure his ears musta burned for just a bit there. We pay for our “instruments of torture” and the girl asks if we want a farm ticket. We tell her “naw”. This is an important question, cause farmers get all kinds a breaks from the “govmint” on farm purchases. Back to the house, and of course, no dogs in sight. The new barrier is placed just inside of the original fence. Two runs of the tape, to ensure no goin under. It is powered up and merrily “snapping” away, complete with little green light indicating fence is not grounded by any branches or anything else touchin it to interrupt the circuit. I continue yellin for the dogs every 5 minutes or so. They show up just about dark, disheveled as usual, and emerging from the woods across the road (the game reserve side). I bring them inside, and wait for the inevitable. They act as if nothing is wrong, bounce around and act glad that we are back. After the new of us bein home has worn off, they head to the back and we hear them goin out the doggie door. I mute the tv and wait. Don’t hafta wait but a few seconds and the first “YERP” is heard. It was Chev, and I feel that yerp in my chest, just like he was a child from my very own womb, dammit. They all run back in, and I can see in his eyes “What the fuck was that???”. A little later, another yelp, from Mill, and later still, a bass one from Chandy. I feel every damn one of em, but what’s a mother to do? I keep tellin myself it’s not cruel. They will only feel the correction if they try to go over the fence. The whole yard is still theirs. I ask myself, “would you rather hear that a few times, or have to pick them up off the road and bury them, or never know why they didn’t come home one day?” They are beginning to get used to it now, and goin back outside for short periods. Chandy has shown her displeasure by chewing on a new ink cartridge in the package (which I rescued just in time), and a candle left out from the power outage. Chev sleeps in the closet where the doggie door is and I can hear him bark with just his head out the door. He has started to go on out and bark in the last couple of days, but I still haven’t seen him just lounging about out there. Surely, they’ll get accustomed to it, won’t they? It’s inexpensive, and easily expandable, so we may just do the entire acre, if they will adjust. And they can still come out when we are doin stuff out in the yard as the weather warms up. I honestly don’t know who it is harder on, me or them. I hate this business of “It’s for your own good…” All I know is that I could not, for the life of me, be a good Republican. Thank whoever, we still have a choice, lol.