I knew Rocky long before I met him or knew his name. His owner walks him along the path behind our house about the same time every morning. I pegged Rocky as some sort of hound due to his deep, prolonged baying, almost like a howl. I hear him most every morning as I am pouring my first cup of coffee or sometimes waking my own little, drowsy-headed hound, Holly, whose own bark sounds nothing like her bigger hound cousins. Because she is a dachshund, her bark --
yap-yap-yap -- is characteristic of small breeds and can certainly grate on one's nerves if not controlled.
I was told a few weeks ago that Rocky is a
Treeing Walker Coonhound. He looks much like this:
It was evening; my son, Kevin, had just arrived home from his community college classes and was preparing his dinner. I had eaten earlier with my husband who was now helping our daughter and son-in-law with a project in their apartment. I heard Rocky's distinctive barking and didn't pay too much attention to it at first. But it continued, non-stop. I was a little annoyed, wondering why his owner would allow him to stand there and simply bark away like that. In the meantime, Holly, who was going a little nuts, proceeded to yap excitedly. From our deck, the branches of trees partially obstructed my view of where Rocky was standing, but I could tell that the owner was sitting on the ground and that Rocky's much quieter, and much more formidable, 'dog-brother' was accompanying them, as is customary. I learned later that the other dog's name is Ollie and that despite his very calm, quiet demeanor, he isn't very nice to strangers. He looks a bit like a
Mastiff - but I'm really not sure of his breed - perhaps he's a mixed breed. Whatever he is - he is big and bulky. From my kitchen window I could plainly see that Rocky was baying at a rabbit in our neighbor's yard. The rabbit sat hunched down, frozen - perhaps pretending to be garden statuary in an attempt to fool the foolhardy hound. Suddenly, the rabbit dashed off lickety-split into the woods with Rocky at her heels. From the open window, I heard wimpers of pain from the owner; the female owner - the wife of the man who normally walks the dogs. I called to Kevin as I rushed by him, "C'mon, we need to help that lady. Her dog is loose and she's hurt!" I hurried over to where the woman was struggling to get up and asked if she needed help. She was visibly shaken and her hand was bleeding. "He pulled us through the fence when he saw the rabbit and I just couldn't control him!" she cried, almost apologetically. She was attempting to call her husband on her cell phone, but was so rattled that she could hardly remember his number. I spoke to her gently hoping to calm her nerves. As I moved closer to her, she backed away. Puzzled, I wondered if she was frightened of me. Finally, she explained that Ollie - who appreared so well-behaved - was really not very nice. She was just protecting me. She worried, too, that Rocky would not come back, "Once he's gone, he's gone! I'll never get him back now." I told her about Jake, the beloved Foxhound mix we had when our kids were young. He was the same way. It was nearly impossible to call him home once he escaped. I asked her if Rocky would come to me if I offered him a treat. "Oh, yes!" she said, "that might work!" By this time, Kevin had joined us with a small Holly treat in hand. The "dog lady" handed him a large leathery treat she had fished from a small pouch strapped around her waist. Kevin had no trouble apprehending a very friendly and affectionate Rocky, who seemed to care less about the treat offered him. Rocky greeted me, too, tail wagging and head nudging my hand begging for a good scratch behind his ears. By this time the woman had managed to reach her husband by phone, tearfully explaining the ordeal. He, I assumed, was on his way to meet her, so Kevin handed Rocky back over to her. She assured us that she could manage both dogs despite the pain ... and the embarrassment. She thanked us profusely and turned to make her way back home with Rocky, nose to ground sniffing away in grand hound style, and Ollie, who honestly didn't seem to give a damn.
As my daughter, Erin, and I were heading out to do some shopping a few nights ago, the "dog-lady" walked up from behind our house. She handed me a not-too-small, white gift box filled with chocolate chip cookies that she had baked for Kevin and me. She was beaming. She smiled wide and her eyes sparkled. The cookies - that we soon discovered were quite delicious - were her offering of thanks. How sweet and kind of her!
Attached to the box, a note read:
To the Kind Lady and Her Son,
Thank you so much for rescuing me the other day when my crazy hound decided to chase a rabbit. I don't know what I would have done without your help.
I keep telling people it must have been quite a sight to see as the three of us went through the fence. People often ask me, "who is walking who" - no question that afternoon Rocky (the Rabbit Chaser) was in total control.
Anyway you were wonderful to help me. I hope you like chocolate chip cookies. They are my way of saying Thanks!!
You have made a friend for life!
Debbie and Doug
(Ollie & Rocky)
This morning, I could hear Rocky along the path behind my house and as I peered out the kitchen window, there hunkered down in the grass of my neighbor's yard, were two rabbits as still as stone. Doug and Ollie gazed at the rabbits as Rocky called out to them -
aarooh, aarooh, aarooh. I headed out to the deck and picked up Holly to keep her from yapping at them as they meandered by. A short while later, Holly and I could hear Rocky baying off in the distance at some other family of rabbits or maybe at our neighborhood fox or resident deer. I imagined, Ollie, standing there, fierce and distiguished and bored, patiently waiting to mosey along.
 |
| Holly watching for Rocky & Ollie and maybe a rabbit or two. |
No comments:
Post a Comment