THE BUD SAGA - PART 15

I’ve used up my last cord of wood, so will need to find more somewhere this weekend. Sitting by the fire at the end of a hectic day is one reason I enjoy winter. Maybe the biggest reason, and even though I know it is going to be more expensive at this time of year, I’ll have to bite the bullet and pull out my wallet. I’ll wait to look at my municipal tax bill (received by mail yesterday) until the wood is safely stacked in the garage. I don’t want to spend the weekend in complete depression, LOL. I know the taxes will be much higher. The Municipality forces you to complete the renovations to the outside of your dwelling - renovations you pay for, of course – then immediately re-evaluates your house so that you pay more in taxes too. Mind you, there are no services added for the hike in evaluation! Eh bien – at least I have a house to live in. Some are sleeping out in the cold, so I’ll stop complaining.

I had the pleasure of chatting by phone with Kilroy yesterday – it had been a long time! It was nice to hear his voice again. He’s been swayed by the beautiful February weather and was musing about going for a bike ride. I have a feeling the Demons will have the last word there. Not yet, my friend…not yet!

The business awaits, so here is the next chapter of the Bud Saga, and I’m off to work MANY hours so that I can pay for both the wood and the taxes…UGH!

YOU WANT ME TO BABY-SIT WHAT??? - The move

The weather was sunny and not too cold, so we spent most of the afternoon outdoors. Bud raced up and down the hill a few times, but was less energetic than usual, and I could tell his paw was hurting. By the time we came back into the house, his limp was worse. I fed them, taking care to add the medication to Bud’s bowl, and was relieved to see him crawl up onto the couch immediately after eating. There would be no annoyance tonight.

With the fire burning warmly, the dogs slumbering quietly, and the view of the full moon’s light on the snow covered mountains and trees, I reflected once again on the calm beauty of the place. A person could get really attached to this kind of life. Without the pit.

It was curiosity that led me to the laptop in the little office off the hall. I switched it on, followed the procedure for dial-up internet, and did a search for
pit-bull clubs. I began to read.

An hour later I sat back, perturbed. It was obvious these owners were passionate about the breed. Repeatedly proclaimed were the words courageous, gentleness with loved ones, excellent family companion, with a natural love for people…. it was a whole different perspective on pit-bulls. They couldn’t all be wrong. They LIVED with these dogs. I leaned forward again. The only descriptions there that could be applied to Bud were the “can-do” attitude and the strength. That he did have! And maybe protection, if this morning’s episode with that Mike dude was any indication. The sentence that struck me most was the warning that pits were not a dog for everyone, that socialization and obedience training were a must. So that was why my friend said I was spoiling his dog! Well, what in hell was I supposed to do? I hardly dared approach the pit, let alone try to discipline him.

There was a white board, so I left a message “Help! I’m babysitting a young pit-bull and he’s driving me crazy. Any advice would be appreciated.” I signed off and prepared for bed. I fell to sleep on the phrase that stuck in my mind - ‘pits are not a dog for everyone’. It was the only thing I had read with which I was in total agreement. Give me a loving lab any day!

The next morning started off badly. The hydro had gone off sometime during the night, so the alarm clock didn’t ring, and I got up late. The water pump, powered by electricity, was not working, which meant no shower and no coffee. The clothes I had put in the machine to dry overnight were still damp, but I had brought a limited wardrobe for my two week stay, so I was forced to endure the uncomfortable feeling of clammy wool pants and sweater. Not to mention having to wear snowmobile boots to complete my outfit, the pit having destroyed my dress boots the day before.

To top it off, Bud refused to go into the cage. No amount of coaxing or Cheeto’s would make him budge. Finally, exasperated beyond belief, I grabbed a leftover pork chop (it was to be my lunch) and that he did follow into his jail. When he heard the latch behind him, he whirled back around but, probably from experience, seemed to know there was no way he was getting out of there now. He gazed up at me, his tail down and the meat ignored. He started to bark as I left – short, single yelps. I hesitated, then swallowed hard, but kept walking. As I drove to work, I realized that I hadn’t shown him any thanks for the intruder incident. But, I reasoned ....he did eat my three hundred dollar boots, so we were even.

I was the employee to unlock and open the office most days so could have changed into shoes before anyone arrived. Having to walk in late, decked out in the huge snow boots, was just keeping in synch with the way the morning was going. It didn’t stop there. One problem after another kept popping up, so my mood got progressively worse. When the dog-lover lady dropped by to see me, I didn’t dare tell her that I had given up on the pit. I knew it would lead to words. She laughed about the boot chewing, saying everyone who owned a puppy had lost a couple of shoes the same way.

“He’s NOT a puppy,” I grumbled. “The vet told me he was at least a year old, if not 15 months.” She came back with the ‘pits maturing later than most’ thing, which I didn’t care to hear at all. Just before leaving she asked me if I’d tried a rolled up newspaper.

“It doesn’t hurt them, and the noise alone will often make a dog listen,” she added. “Try it out. It just might work.”

When she left, I sat back in my chair. I needed to go home. Like a tired and wounded child, it was the only place I wanted to be. Because I rarely missed a day, I felt no pangs at telling my employer that I wasn’t feeling well, I would be absent for a day or two.

My son and his buddies were surprised but delighted to see me when they came into the apartment that evening. We sat around the table, eating the Chicken-a-la-King I had prepared as a ‘Welcome me back’ meal, and I entertained them with the ‘Bud’ stories. The others agreed that I was better out of the ordeal, but my son, who knows me well, looked at me carefully.

“Whatever,” was his only comment.

When they went to watch TV, I found myself logging onto the Pit-bull Club site. Wow! The members had bombarded my plea with advice, comments and even some scolding. There were two comments that stood out. The first: “You must realize this is not a lassie breed you are dealing with”. You’re kidding! Tell me something I don’t know! and the second: “He must be shown you are the master. Be kind but be firm. It’s YOUR attitude that has to change!” What? But he’s only a dog! He should be adapting…not me! Insulted, I switched off the computer and decided to make it an early night. I would be sleeping in my own bed. This was going to be heaven!

But it wasn’t. When darkness falls, the bogeyman comes out. First of all, my bed was way less comfortable than the one at the house in the bush - and the city noises were suddenly intrusive. Worse, no matter how I endeavoured to change my thoughts, the image of Bud in the cage, especially his yelps (he had never done that before) would not stop haunting me. Maybe it was me who needed to change my attitude after all. He was just a dog…I was the one with the brain here. Or was I?

After tossing and turning for an hour, I got out of bed. I’d phone Helen and tell her I’d give it another week or two. I’d arm myself with rolled newspapers, and I’d try petting him now and then. He had protected me, after all, and the money left for food would easily purchase new boots. Hey, he had treated them as a meal, hadn’t he?

There was no answer when I phoned her residence. I tried again. Maybe I had dialled wrong. Still no-one picked up. That was weird – she was always at home. Then I called the house, and could picture the dogs sitting alone, looking at the ringing phone hopefully. No answer there either. Okay, my comrade’s cellular. He would know what was going on. When I got his voice mail, I left a message, but now I started to panic. I had told him that I wasn’t going back; to tell Helen it was up to her. It was a statement made in the heat of the moment…maybe he took me seriously. Helen had said she needed a couple of days to prepare for the labs, but she wasn’t the type to waste time. Had she decided on immediate action? If so, the labs would already be tied in her garage, and Bud…Oh no!

Frantically I dialled her number again. After ten rings, I threw down the phone and raced to my room to dress as quickly as I could. Grabbing just the necessities and my car keys, I shrugged on my coat and headed for the door. My son met me there.

“I knew it,” he said. He was thinking away ahead of me. “Leave me the phone numbers. I’ll keep trying to reach them while you drive up. And don’t drive like a fool! You can’t help anybody if you have an accident!”

I nodded my assent. But I lied. I did drive like a fool and, in spite of snowy roads, made it to the bush in forty-five minutes. It was dark and silent, much the same as when I had arrived that first night.

I was praying when I unlocked the door, but no dogs rushed to greet me. I flicked on the light and turned to look at the cage. My heart sank. It was empty.

(To be cont’d)

That’s it for today, folks. Have a good one; don’t forget to spread that SMILE around!!

Luv from the Bush in Quebec.