My Dog Mitz:

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Leep
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If Mike has 13 apples, and gives six to Jane, how many does he have left?: 13
Location: Butte, Mt.

My Dog Mitz:

Post by Leep »

MITZ



There's something magical about a boy's first hunt by himself. Of course you couldn't really say he was alone as he had his first hunting dog along. This was also the dog's first trip into the woods and it was clear he was as excited as the boy was. Now maybe a little black Daschund isn't your idea of a real hunting dog, but this wasn't just any old dog, it was the first dog. It was hard getting permission to go to the woods as you had to walk along the old highway for about a half- mile. But, after promising to be very careful his Dad finally relented and gave his permission.

The dog knew what the leash meant and started whining softly as soon as the boy pulled it off the peg by the door. The old house they lived in butted tight up against the steep bank in the back and the old Juniata river flowed right past the steep bank in the front of the house.
The little hound did have some experience with wildlife as he chased the coons off the porch when they came to sample his food. I guess he figured it was his and they figured it was only fair of him to share.
He never did see it their way and they never did stop trying.
The boy finally took to feeding him inside the house. What benefits the little guy got from the food was almost outweighed by the effort he had to exert chasing them off.
One night he went tearing out the door to protect his food dish and ran right smack into a big ol skunk. I don't know which one was more surprised, him or the skunk, but I sure know which one smelled the worst.
He sure couldn't understand why he had to stay in the shed out back, and he let us know he wasn't happy about it.
Back in them days everyone had dogs of some kind and pretty near everyone had a special cure for getting rid of polecat smell. We just put our little hound in the river and scrubbed him down real good with the cheapest , strongest soap we could find. He didn't like it much, but Dad said, if it was good enough for us it was good enough for him.
My little sister named my dog and what a name she give him. Mitz, now what kind of dog has a name like that?
But, Mom said that was going to be his name and you didn't argue much with Mom and never with Dad.
Tell the truth, he never did seem to mind his name even when I apologized to him for it. I said I hope you know I had nothing to do with it Mitz, but he'd just wag his tail and kiss me on the face.
After a while I didn't even mind it too much.
There is a place down the road a mile or so called Hundred Springs and it was a young boys dream.
The first mile was along the old road that ran through our little town of Ironsville and the other half-mile was along the main highway.
Me and Mitz walked down the road together with him on the leash and my old single shot .22 rifle over my shoulder.
When you walk up the old blacktop road and drop off the side you are in some real old woods.
There are old, tall Hemlock, alongside huge Oaks and Maple, with Spruce and Hickory. There are also Beech and White Pine and tall, straight Ash. Streams run on both sides of the old path that leads deeper into the woods. There are tall Rhododendron and Mountain Laurel in the bottoms.
Deer live here along with squirrels, both gray and red, and wild turkey, and coon and possum. Black bear frequent the area also. Not to mention the Red Fox and the Gray fox that can be seen if you are quiet.
And, there is nothing quieter than a young boy on his first trip into the woods alone. I believe we are as close to belonging in the woods as we are to ever be when we are young, when everything is new.
There is an old pipe that spans the creek-bed going into the woods.
The little dog looked up at me as I cut him loose of his leash to make sure which way we were going. You had to walk pretty careful over that old pipe if you didn't want to fall off the side.
He never hesitated, but followed cheerfully along over the pipe behind me. He figured I knew more than he did, I guess, and never questioned anything I did or said.
There is a path that leads up into the woods and an old groundhog lived in a hole right off the trail.
I got it in my head that I could send ol Mitz down the one hole and he could chase the groundhog out the other hole.
Then I would shoot the hog and take him home. There was always someone willing to take a groundhog if you delivered him.
After all, didn't my Uncle Dave say these dogs were bred for going down Badger holes and running them out. I had never seen a badger but everyone agreed they were pretty mean varmints.
I took Mitz to the hole and pointed him down and said go get him boy. He looked at me for a second then took right off down that hole.
I thought; wait till I tell everyone about this.
I ran over to the other hole and waited with my rifle pointed in the opening. I figured when that hog came running out I had him, all right.
I waited and listened for a while and didn't hear anything. I was just starting to worry about my dog and wondering if I did wrong by putting him down that hole. Maybe groundhogs weren't as mean as badgers but I knew they were plenty mean in their own right.
Right as I was really getting worried I heard the most awful growling and barking from down deep in that hole.
I got my gun ready sure that hog would soon be coming out, but he never did.
It got quiet again for a minute, then Mitz popped out the same hole he went in and ran over to me and looked down the other hole with me.
He growled a little then turned and went up the trail, turning to look over his shoulder to see if I was coming.
I went back there with Mitz about three or four more times and sent him down that hole and the same thing happened every time. There'd be growling and carrying on and then he'd pop out the same hole he went in. One time about two weeks later we went past the hole and I said "git him Mitz."
He just looked at me as if to say, again? I said "go git him boy."
With a shake of his shoulders he slipped back down the hole. This time there was no sound, just silence. After about a minute or so I started to worry and looked down the hole and called him. To my surprise he popped out the other hole.
That groundhog had finally got tired of being bothered in his own home by this little barking pest, that he picked up and moved.
I found his new home a week or so later but Mitz and I both figured he had earned some peace and quiet.
One cool and misty morning Mitz and I walked quietly up the trail towards the big woods.
It was the kind of day when the animals would be more active than usual. I don't know why they liked those cool rainy days, they just do.
Mitz was happily working the under brush and just nosing into every interesting scent he ran across. I watched him go, wondering what he was smelling.
We were after squirrel or rabbits or whatever he could find, it didn't matter much as long as it wasn't deer. We had already had a heated discussion about that and he decided it wasn't in his best interests to pursue them.
He was a really smart dog, you didn't have to tell him more than once.
This morning he was running up a steep pine clad hill when I heard him barking.
This time there was a shrill note of fear and desperation in his voice.
Filled with worry for him I ran up the trail and saw him running for his life with four big dogs of varied ancestry close behind him.
Mitz saw me running towards him and his ears and speed picked up as he ran right at me.
What were these feral, vicious dogs doing out here in the middle of the big woods?
I hollered "come on Mitz, come on boy."
Without missing a beat he ran right to me and curled around my legs and peered back up the trail at the pack.
I stepped up a bit and hollered " get the he… out of here." They never slowed , just turned towards my voice and picked up speed.
Mitz was growling and barking at them from between my legs.
I had my Pap's old single shot .12 gauge shotgun loaded with high brass number 6 shot.
I had gotten pretty good at loading it fast.
I always had one shell in my right hand and could reload it and shoot might near as fast as a pump gun.
The biggest dog looked to be an German Shepherd , and the one right behind was a big, black dog of some make. One of the others was a big, yellow shaggy dog and the last one was a Beagle.
I hollered one last time with no noticeable results except to make him hone in more surely on me.
At about 30 feet I touched off the old shotgun and rolled that yellow arrow of a mutt.
When he stopped rolling he was about 6 feet from both of us.
Mitz was barking furiously while this was going on. He had all the confidence in the world his master could handle the situation.
I wasn't so sure.
I was only thirteen and I was at least as scared as he was.
The big black dog wasn't far behind his partner and the blast hadn't slowed him down much that I could see.
I couldn't believe this was really happening; these were dogs for Pete’s sake. They weren't supposed to be doing this.
I had automatically reloaded and threw the old gun to my shoulder before the echoes of the first blast had faded.
That old silver, polished, front bead tracked that black streak of meanness for an instant then the stillness of the woods was shattered once again as the old gun echoed through the hills and shattered the mist falling around us. This one rolled a couple of times and then turned and started right towards me and my trembling dog.
I could tell by the way he was dragging himself that I had broken his back. He looked at us both and kept coming at us, pulling himself with his front legs.
I was shaken by the evil determination of this animal that was once someone's trusted friend.
I didn't waste much time reflecting on how this came about as he was only about 6 or 8 feet from us and there were still two more to worry about.
I shot him in the head at close range, quickly reloaded and looked wildly about for the other two.
I need not have worried.
The big yellow dog was already out of range and the beagle was just disappearing over the brow of the hill.
Before I had time for the shakes to set in Mitz was already nosing the two carcasses and showing his opinion of them as only dogs can do.
I wasn't in any mood after that to go any farther that day and after dragging the first one deeper into the damp undergrowth I turned and walked softly out of the big woods.
I couldn't bring myself to even touch the black one. His actions seemed too unreal to a boy my age.
I was shaken more than I realized and, now that the worst was over, I just wanted to go.
Mitz seemed to agree with this decision and stayed close by my side until we came out of the woods and hit the old road heading home.
With a shake that started at the front and ended at the back he seemed to shake off his worries as easy as the water that went blurring off his coat.
It wasn't quite as easy for me and it took a couple weeks and some talking with my Unc' before I could put it behind me.
But, I did.
After all, what could really keep a boy and his dog down for long? As long as I had Pap's old shotgun and my dog Mitz, what more did a kid need?
I knew we would both be back. Heck, we hadn't even dented those old woods and it wasn't long before we were walking up that old road again and knocking on the door of Hundred Springs.
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