It's a dog's life.... fortunately

I've decided that I'll be more or less AWOL for the weekend... I'll probably still post some, but I'll take a break since the major reason the dems exist on the planet... THE VAL PLAME AFFAIR... has exploded on the launch pad and Joe Wilson turns out to the the leaker, the liar and the idiot we've always known he is, even the WaPo has turned tail to run while pointing the journalistic phalnge at others.

Idiots all.... the real loser here is Scooter Libby who was caught in the cross-fire and will pay millions to defend himself against something that never happened. That's what happens when politi-thugs like Harry Reid, Screamin' Howie Dean, Nancy Pelosi and their minions are allowed off the hospital grounds.

So... here's a story I was reminded of last night and is one of my favorite dog stories which never fails to bring a tear to my eye... the legendary "Shep" of Fort Benton Montana. In the summer of 1936 a sheepherder got bad sick and was brought into town for treatment, and... .well, I'll let one of one of the many websites that carry Shep's touching story take it from there:   

"He was brought to the St. Clare Hospital in Fort Benton, Montana.  A nondescript sheep dog had followed the herder into town and soon set up a vigil at the hospital's door.  A kind hearted nun who ran the hospital kitchen fed the dog during those few days before the man died.  The herder's family in the East requested that his body be sent back home. 

"On that August day the undertaker put the body on the east-bound train for shipment to his waiting relatives.  As the gurney was rolled out onto the platform, a big gaunt shepherd dog with watchful eyes appeared out of nowhere and watched as the casket was loaded into the baggage car.  Attendants later recalled the dog whining as the door slammed shut and the engine slowly started to pull away from the station, then head down, turning and trotting down the tracks.  On that day the dog, later named Shep, began a five-and-a-half year vigil that was only broken by his death.

"Day after day, meeting four trains daily, Shep became a fixture on the platform.  He eyed each passenger hopefully, and was often chased off as a mongrel but never completely discouraged.  Neither the heat of summer days nor the bitter Montana winter days prevented Shep from meeting the next train.   As Shep's fame spread, people came from everywhere to see him, to photograph him, and to try and make friends and possibly adopt him.  All of the attention was somewhat unwelcome; after checking the train he often retired quickly to get away from those who came to see him.

"Most people missed the point that Shep was a one-man dog.  The bond he had formed with the herder many years before was simply the most important thing is his life.  Food, shelter and attention were now provided by the railroad employees.  That was all he wanted, except his master's return.

"Shep was an older dog when he came to the station house in Fort Benton. Throughout his vigil the long nights under the platform and the cold winter had taken their toll.  Stiff-legged and hard of hearing, Shep failed to hear old No. 235 as it rolled into the station at 10:17 that cold winter morning.  He turned to look when the engine was almost upon him, moved to get out of the way, and slipped on the icy rails.  Shep's long vigil had ended.

"Shep's funeral was held two days later.  He was laid to rest on the bluff overlooking the station where his long wait had been in vain.  The sights and sounds of the singing rails and the whistles around the bend are all gone now, also passing with time. 

"No passenger trains pull into the station today, but Shep still maintains his lonely vigil atop the wind-swept bluff overlooking the abandoned depot."

This "Shep" is not associated with the Red Foley song "Ole Shep" from the same era... but that's not really true. Such songs and poems and remembrances that permeate our literature, folklore and most certainly our oral histories, are timeless and of course tributes to that bond between man and dog that has existed for thousands of years. 

They say that Shep was mostly an Australian Shepherd (naturally) but he is also Every Dog.

Anyone who has stared into his dog's eyes on a cold winter's night when there is not a sound save the popping of the embers of a dying fire knows immediately and well the Truth of Dogs. It is a gentleman's agreement... I'm here for the duration and nothing except death will alter that course. Will you?

Oh, how miserably we pathetic humans often fail that contract. The house is too small, he sheds a lot; he needs more attention than I can give him. Next time you hear that or gawd forbid, say it... think of Shep.

Back in the fall you may recall that I took Jenny to the adoption shelter here in town after coaxing her, cold and hungry, from under my truck early one morning. She was a good one and sweet, you could tell. I praised her so much and her personality was such that she never made it to adoption... the volunteer behind the counter took her home that night.

I must admit I was a bit sad... disappointed; I think of her often.

I'm from the school of "you have to kiss your dog every day"... and my message for young lads and their first dog is... "you must eat dog biscuits with your dog or you ain't worth spit." This is a little known ritual I pass along, but it's the dogs who expect it. If you don't, they talk about you.

I told my therapist once that at some points during the last five years, I wasn't sure that I would have made without Tripoli and Sparky. I meant that; I mean that. Luckily for me, they included me in their pack and treat me as a dog.... it is the highest of compliments. Anyone can be a human.

Our routines have meshed. They wake me up, I put them to bed. Sparky (right) is in charge of meal time and snacks. As regular as an alarm clock, he looks intently at me at 6:30 a.m., 10 a.m., about 2 p.m. and 4 p.m. and then just before lights out... meal time and snacks.

Trip backs him up with a hopeful smile.

This is funny. While writing this I was back and forth between the computer and the kitchen, preparing what passes for me as dinner. The bagel was sliced and I was browning some ground turkey. This trip I returned to the kitchen to find my plate containing the bagel... empty.

With the exception of Rosie O'Donnel, Trip is the most food-driven being on the planet.

All you have to do is question Trip and point--in this case at the empty plate... his face always turns state's evidence; he's the guiltiest looking dog in canine history.

Ordered slinking back to the living room while licking his lips (another "tell") he's in the ah, dog house. That wasn't his personal best... one time he consumed half a large, vegetarian pizza before anyone knew. It was okay with me... belonged to my psychotic ex-wife.

Anyway... he'll pay for it tonight... the bagel was jalapeno.

Yeah, "Dog is my co-pilot" and there may be a lot of things that would offend The Man Upstairs, but that isn't one of them.

Before I turn to the evening's mindless TV fare, I can't retire without a remembrance of Rusty (left with Tweety and Puff); we grew up together. He entered my life when I was 18 months old.

Rusty was a wonderful friend and companion who, due to circumstances he could not control, left me behind when I was 11.

So painful was the loss, I didn't have another dog for 40 years; I finally decided that if the grief would not go away, I'd have to mix it with great portions of love from another great dog... Trip was there when I was ready.

Any variation in all those years would have meant he and I would never have been... it was The Plan.

These things happen for a reason; dogs will tell you that.

Gotta go... have to nibble a biscuit with my friends.

Comments

[Dan Patterson]

"If a dog will not come up to you having looked you in the face, you should go home and examine your conscience". So said Woodrow Wilson and I can't agree more. No explanation for the bond between man and dog is available other than the world is a better place because of it. My soft head and soft heart have conspired to cause me to collect seven otherwise homeless dogs in my home--five of them are helping me write this and two are outside watching for the dreaded squirrel monsters. Like you other fellows, I miss the ones that have gone--I still dream about them and once in a while see Samantha out of the corner of my eye--and I am ever thankful for the companionship and affection.

Best to you and your pack.

Dan Patterson
Arrogant Infidel

[Hap Arnold]

Good stuff. Poignant & touching....

[Michael Mattei]

OK you got me all teary on a drizzing Saturday morning. My best dog ever, I now live with 4 German Shepherd dogs, was Betty, mother of Larry, who is now also nearing the end. Died in my arms in Bellingham in 2001. What a personality. Also a food thief. One time, with my dinner in the living room on the coffee table, I got up and she grabbed something, I forget now, off my plate. I come back and see the food missing and look at her and she stops chewing and looks at me like "What?" I keep looking at her and she starts drooling but will not start chewing again. She finally kinda backed out of the room and finished off her theft.

Boy, I miss her.

[Ninja R]

"Oh, how miserably we pathetic humans often fail that contract. The house is too small, he sheds a lot; he needs more attention than I can give him. Next time you hear that or gawd forbid, say it... think of Shep."

Reminds me of, "There are no stupid dogs...just stupid owners."

I don't dare let my daughter eat something while the dogs are around. If they don't take it, she'll give it to them. My oldest beagle loves coffee for some reason, too. Can't walk out of the room with a cup of coffee on the coffee table...it'll be my beagle's.

Sniper watching over her territory: http://members.aol.com/ninjarv2/sniperandalli.jpg