My dog's better than your dog......

But of course that's not true...but besides paying people, catchy titles are about the only guarantee people will read this blog. (Victor... who said it was catchy?.. I know, I know.. it's like when someone says "I've got a funny story."  I always stop them, "Wait...you tell it, we'll decide if it's funny."  Where was I?)

Oh yeah, my dog's better than your dog.  Of course not.  All of our dogs are better than other people's dogs. Spice to our life.

I was laying in bed..  Drowsing on and off whilst playing Sudoku, trying to get my total sleep hours up to 8.. dogs entered my head.  No use trying to sleep, all I could think of was pets.  I've had some wonderful pets.   Oh yeah Victor?  You tell us, then we'll decide if they are/were wonderful or not.

OK.

Brownie. He wasn't the biggest, but he was (close your ears) the baddest ass dog in town.  I ain't kiddin.  In the days before leash laws, he garnered more trips to the vet to get stitched up from altercations (he'd won) than any hound, to any vet in our small town.

Brownie had patterns.  When morning came, of course he looked at the door relating "time for me to go."  So, we'd open the door and off he went.  We really never know where he went until a bit later. We learned, Snoozy was fond of Brownie.  Some of you may remember Snoozy from Co-op, a gas station/feed store six blocks from our home.  Nice, nice man who worked there for a long, long time.....

Daily, Brownie would walk to Co-op where Snoozy would then go to the candy machine and purchase (I think a dime back then) a Snicker's bar for Brownie.  I know, I know, you ain't supposed to give a hound chocolate, but I'm here to tellya, Brownie was ok with it.  Of course he didn't demand it, but he expected it.

If it was OK weather, Brownie would eventually come back home. If it was hotter than the dicken's, mid-afternoon we'd get a call from the manager at Safeway, "Mr. Schultze, you're gonna have to come get Brownie again... he's laying between the entry way doors so he can get cool due to the air conditioning, but people are having to walk around him." True. So we'd go get him.

My dog's better than your dog. OF COURSE not.  Brownie was unique though. Every summer, EJ Holub, Buck Buchanon, Willie Lanier, Len Dawson, Otis Taylor, et al, would invade our fine City, park at William Jewell to prepare for the upcoming NFL season.

After Brownie had munched down his Snickers, he'd wander to William Jewell and delight at the noise from the blocking sled. At times, my friends would tease me about Brownie.  Dude would follow me to High School.  He'd follow me to the City Park.  And he'd occasionally follow me up to WJC. Band camp, the noise of 7 immense 300 lb plus men blasting the blocking sled, accompanied by yells, grunts, etc..  perked Brownie's attention.  I will never forget the day, EJ... EJ Holub, was in the center of the blocking sled, going at it..  He'd hit it, back up, yell out his Texas "Yee-haw" and he'd hit it again.

Scroll to Brownie being the baddest ass dog in town.  EJ was one-upping him with all the noise.  So... Brownie decides he'd like a chunk outta EJ's hiney.  EJ hit the sled with his left shoulder/arm, Brownie would bite his butt (repeatedly) and EJ would swat at Brownie with his right arm all the while.  I really don't remember how it ended, but I know I was summoned to get Brownie and take him back home. I was a mess... proud, embarrassed, and full of laughter as I tugged at his collar on the way home.

Gabe.  Gabe, was like Brownie in that he was a mutt... a Brown mutt, just like Brownie.  Except Gabe was a pacifist.  Until.  Until he got in the car.  He loved going on rides.. he'd stick his head out the window, and EVERY time a car approached, he'd snap at it. It got to the point my friends would say "Vic, let's take Gabe for a ride to watch him snap!"

That was Gabe's claim to fame.  Well, his first claim.  His second claim. Band camp, ie, Sorority party in our detached garage... some kind of hard liquor was being scarfed down.  One teenie tiny sorority sister had one too many, soon, the liquor, and whatever she'd eaten for three days was spewed all over the floor of the garage.  My buddy SWEARS to this day it was me that got sick.  Wasn't. But I do remember him being with me that day and I said "Tip, watch this." I then let Gabe inside, and cleanup detail was cinchy. For some reason the girls left soon after.  Sorry.  Kinda. Guess you had to be there. I thought funny.

Smokey.  Smokey Butterball.  The only purebread I ever owned.  My sister inlaw, who has had more dogs, fosters, rescues, tile floored houses than any person I know - would go to dog auctions simply to purchase dogs to get them the hell away from breeders and a new lease on life.  Smoky was a Yorkie, deemed "too large to breed, undesirous."  Right up my SIL's alley to get him outta there.  $25. Money well spent.

Smokey spent the first year at our house sleeping under the bed, fear of anything outside of a kennel.  Finally, finally he came around, got more and more relaxed.  Enough so, we'd take him on walks - by now leash law in place - but we'd go the to the Cemetary to walk... we'd let him off his leash and he'd run like the wind happily.  He always stayed close to us.

Until.  We'd walk Smokey at all different hours.  For night time, we bought him a nifty collar with a a battery operated red blinking light.  Twas easy to see him, and he loved it.

Until, one night he ran and he ran and the red light was outta sight.  We were still of the age we could run and run, so we ran and ran.  Nope, couldn't find him.  We were on our third lap around the Cemetary when some kids approached...  my ex yelled "HEY, HAVE YOU SEEN A LITTLE DOG....." and the kids interupted and said "YEAH, RUNNING WITH A RED BLINKING LIGHT?"  YES!  They had.  They pointed us in the right direction.  We garnered Smokey - happy ending.

Sadie and Scruffy.  I do not remember where we got these hounds, but assuredly, probably from my SIL.  Sadie was a big, beautiful, white lab mix.. Scruffy was just that.  Scruffy. I've loved every dog I've ever owned, but Scruffy was about a 4 on a scale of 10.  He'd always get in your face.  His face was always soaked, dirty, nasty, disgusting...but he was a dog, so we loved him.

Truthfully, in retrospect, I kinda felt sorry for Scruffy.  You see, for ten long years, Scruffy, a short, wirey, some type of terrier mix, adored Sadie, a very tall, beautiful lab mix.  This was before the days of Match.com, PlentyofFish, Tinder, etc.  Scruffy was stuck for ten long years in our fenced back yard, trying to get 'stuck' with Sadie.  He'd try and he'd try, yet he was always about ten, twelve inches too short, wasn't gonna happen.  He never gave up though.  Sadie was gentle, but when Scruffy persisted and persisted, she'd snap at him and their 'date' was then formally over.

See?  My dog's better than your dog.  Of course I know not, but I've loved each and every one, just as I'm sure you have.

That's all.

Tune in tomorrow when we switch to cats.  My cat's a bigger B than your cat.

By Henry Gibson, Lassie, Marley and me.

Love, Victurd

(Oh and I lied, this is my last posting today.)