My Dog Mitz:2

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Leep
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Joined: Sat Dec 31, 2005 3:32 am
If Mike has 13 apples, and gives six to Jane, how many does he have left?: 13
Location: Butte, Mt.

My Dog Mitz:2

Post by Leep »

I had an old black bike that I paid two dollars for, money I earned walking a mile and a half to pull weeds for various relatives who lived down the road. Once I had real transportation I could ride up to town in the other direction and get a real job. This was setting up pins at the Moose Club every Thursday with my friend from childhood, Gordie Steel.

We were thirteen and the ride to town on our bikes was nothing for two young boys reared in the country. And, we were earning real money for the first time in our lives. We were each responsible for two lanes and the faster you were the better the tips would be. When those men whipped those bowling balls down the lane, they sent pins flying every which way. Our job was to pick up the pins, two in each hand, slap them in the holes and then wait for the next ball to come roaring down the lane.
If the bowler made a strike you only had to handle them once. If they were working on a spare, you better get those pins in the holders fast and get out of the way because they couldn't see you down in that hole, and if you hollered when one went flying past your head or bounced off your leg they would just laugh and yell ," look lively in there boys."
We made five dollars apiece and most times a dollar or two in tips.
This was real money in those days: you could buy a gallon of gas for 26 cents and a loaf of bread for a quarter. I always gave the five to my mom and if things were tight I would give her all seven.
Mom hated to take it, but there were seven of us and five dollars would fill that big old Buick near full, and I would walk over to old Pappy Cowher's store in the morning before school and buy a pound of regular bologna for 50 cents a pound for our lunches and, if we didn't need the money too much, Mom would let me buy a pound of Lebanon Bologna for 65 cents.
Mom would always try to let me keep some of the money, but what did a thirteen year old boy need to buy anyway. I only needed a box of twenty- two shells for my old single shot, or once or twice a year, a box of 12 gauge shells for my Dad's old single shotgun.
I didn't need to buy too many of them though, that thing kicked something awful and I only was 5 foot 4 and 95 pounds, so I usually was much happier carrying my old .22.
I don't think Mom ever told anyone I was giving her money. I know it hurt her to do it. She never had to ask though: I would always ask her the next morning if we needed anything, or if Dad needed any money. Mom made Dad's lunch more than once with that bowling money.
It wasn't like Dad wasn't doing his best; he worked every day and gave Mom every cent he made.
Like I said, it isn't easy feeding and clothing seven people and yourself. I was proud to be able to help out the family.

Once I had that old black bike I could go farther faster than before and I was lucky there was an old basket in the front of it. I could lay the old .22 across the handlebars and put Mitz in the basket and away we would go for the big woods in Hundred Springs.
It took a while for Mitz to get used to riding in the front of the bike, but once he did he really took to it. He would set up in the front and look out with those quick, brown eyes and watch the world go by. He figured, if it was good enough for me then it was all right with him. Besides, this way we could get to the woods a lot faster and, like me, he was all for that.
One Saturday morning early, I loaded up Mitz on the bike and with my gun across the handlebars, took off down the road. It only took about a half- hour to pedal my way down the highway to the macadam road heading to the woods. We hadn't been back to the woods since we had been attacked by that pack of dogs and to tell the truth I hadn't been in any rush to go back anytime soon. I had discussed the incident with Mitz and he didn't seem to have a problem with it.
Finally my love for those big woods overcame my discomfort, and here we were.
The woods were quiet in the early morning light: the dew was still on the ground and if you brushed against a bush or shrub on the way up the trail, you soon became as wet as they were.
There is nothing as exciting as moving up a path to places you haven't been to yet. Every time we went there we went into them a little farther and deeper. I would always go up the path and come out the same way as I didn't want to get lost and have to have someone come looking for me. This morning we passed the place where the dogs decided we were fair game and, on the left going in were the scattered bones of the big black one. I had dragged the yellow one down over the bank that day but couldn't bring myself to touch that black one. I could still see him crawling towards me and Mitz with his back broke, dragging himself towards us. It was as if there was something terribly wrong with an animal that determined to do hurt to us and I wanted nothing to do with him, alive or dead.
After going a goods ways past that area, I started to believe they had left the country for good and wasn't a bit sorry if we never saw them again. We had killed the leaders, I figured and maybe the others would leave for another forest if they didn't have that big black one to lead them into trouble.
We had walked further up the trail this time than ever before and the anticipation of new territory and unseen country made us even quieter and slower moving than usual. Even though my Uncle and my Dad had told me of all the animals that lived here, I hadn't seen all that many yet myself.
We were walking slowly up the trail when Mitz suddenly threw his head up and looking at me for permission , took off like a black streak up the hill on the right. In just a few seconds I heard a clucking and saw a big black bird launching itself into the air and coming to rest about halfway up a big hemlock. Without conscious thought I threw my gun to my shoulder and fired.
That big turkey gobbler come crashing down out of that tree and then came sliding down that steep hill through the underbrush. I had already reloaded and when that big black bird came into sight I was already on him and squeezing the trigger. Just before the gun went off I realized there was something strange looking about that turkey. He looked a lot different than any turkey that I had ever seen. Course the only ones I had ever seen were on a platter with stuffing and mashed potatoes. This one though had a big growth on its' back. It only took a second though to realize that that was Mitz perched on that turkeys back, riding him down that steep hill with his teeth firmly in its neck.
Well, that was another short hunt in the big woods of Hundred Springs. I didn't know much about turkeys except they were good eating and expensive to buy, so I was going to get this one on the bike and home as soon as possible. I wasn't sure how to clean one even, but I knew Mom did and I was going to get him home before something happened to him. I didn't figure he would go bad in the half hour it would take to pedal home, but I wasn't about to take any chances and we took off.
You should have seen the few cars that passed us, slowing down to take a look at the skinny redheaded kid on the big black bike, pedaling furiously down the road with a little black dog in the basket in front, proudly standing guard over the first wild turkey either one of them had ever seen.
He tasted just as good as I hoped he would too and I made sure Mitz got his share dropped under the table at thanksgiving. I knew there would be more excitement coming for me and Mitz in the near future and as I dropped off to sleep that night I cuddled my dog closer to me, after all where else would he sleep?



Me and Mitz had been to the big woods a couple times now and still hadn't been more than a few hundred yards into them yet.
Seemed like something always happened to us before we could really get started. First that pack of wild dogs that wanted to eat us, and then Mitz treed our first turkey, now before we could even get started into the woods here come the caretaker of the place. He lived there in the big white house along the road and worked in the small water treatment plant right across from his house. "Hey boy, he called, where you think you're going?"
I just stood there along side my bike with Mitz on his leash. "Well, he said, you gonna answer me?"
I told him in a low voice that me and my dog was going hunting up the road a piece and we weren't hurting nothin'.
"Well, you ain't supposed to be in them woods boy, they belong to the paper mill and they pay me to keep people out of there."
I kind of looked down and shuffled my feet and didn't know what to say. I just knew he was going to throw me out of there and I purely didn't know if I could take that or not. Seemed like there was always a grownup standing around a corner somewhere just waiting to mess things up for you, it surely did.
"Well, say something, what's your name boy and where you from?"
I told him who I was and where I lived and he asked,
"You Rags’ boy?"
I allowed I was all right and Dave Keith from down the road a little piece was my uncle and did he know them?
He said he sure did and he guessed it was all right for me to go hunt in his woods after all, if I was careful and didn't shoot anything out of season.
I felt the world had been lifted off my shoulders and when he saw me light up that a way he grinned and said ,"Well go on then and be careful up there cause there was a pack of wild dogs running in his woods and they were killing deer.
I stood right up and said me and my dog had already shot two of them dang dogs right up from the little dam. He looked at me and Mitz with new interest and said "I gotta' hear this one."
After I told him how me and Mitz took care of the two biggest ones in the pack he said,"Well I guess I'm gonna have to count on you to take care of the place up there when I can't get up in the woods and, you just go hunting whenever you want, only you check in with me from time to time and let me know how you are doing."
I guess I lit up light a big red light bulb cause he just laughed and said , "Well, git goin' now, you're burning daylight."
Well, it didn't take me and Mitz long to get up that road and into the woods. I sure hoped we could get up the trail a little further this time. The anticipation was running high that day and I felt that Hundred Springs was really my woods for sure.
It was a cool and damp fall day and neither Mitz nor I made a sound as we slipped up the path and rounded the corner. We had never been this deep into the woods before and I was almost breathless with the newness of it all. Mitz was just happy to be along and he looked at me from time to time with that smile that dogs can put on when they are really happy. And anyone that tells you dogs can't smile or grin don't know much about them. We walked around a corner at the end of the trail and just stood side by side looking out into the woods. The trail we were on met another trail, one leg going back down towards the road and the other deeper into the woods. We trod silently towards the new trail and took the left fork and stopped crouched under a big old Hemlock. I hunkered down with my back against the tree and Mitz jumped up onto my lap and looked with great interest at the new surroundings. I just knew we would see something wild before long.
My Dad and unc' told me that wild things always came out more on damp, rainy days and I just knew if we were quiet and still we would see something. Mitz had better ears than I did so I would look at him from time to time to see if he was looking with interest at anything in particular. Far as I could see though, he wasn't looking at anything special; he was just burrowing down closer to me to keep warm. After he got settled to his satisfaction, he started to perk up some and look with real interest at our surroundings. I didn't mind too much really, I wanted him to stay close anyhow. After all, we were a team and this was all new to both of us.
After we had been sitting for awhile, Mitz looked suddenly across the trail at the hillside. I sure hadn't heard anything but he must have, cause he was looking intently at the trees on the hill across from us and was squirming all over with excitement. "Sit still Mitz I told him, you're gonna scare it away."
I didn't know what it was he saw but I knew I wanted it most as bad as he did. I finally got a bead on where he was looking and saw the branches moving in a big Hickory about thirty yards across from us. Mitz was almost beside himself from wanting that squirrel that was cutting Hickory nuts and dropping them on the ground under the tree. He must have heard the light thud as the nuts bounced off the damp ground or he saw him moving about the tree. I patted him on his black head and said, "Well, go git him Mitz."
By this time the squirrel had come down the tree and was busily hunting the food he had cut and dropped. I had lost sight of him as he bounced along the ground, but Mitz would get him I knew. Looking back at me to make sure I was coming, Mitz took off across the trail and up the hillside. That squirrel never knew Mitz was anywhere near till he was almost on top of him. Mitz, I found out, was a silent trailer. He never said a word till he was almost right on top of whatever it was he was chasing. That big old Gray Squirrel came around one side of the tree with a nut or two stuffed in his mouth, and Mitz met him coming round the other side. I don't know which was the most surprised, Mitz or the squirrel. Mitz never let out a sound when he saw it, he just run at him at full speed and jumped. But Mitz didn't depend on his speed for his survival and the squirrel was used to living in an environment where one false move meant you were dinner for some fox or hawk, or some other hunter.
That big old Gray never hesitated; he just leapt about five feet straight up into that tree and sat looking down at Mitz telling the world about his narrow escape and just letting off steam in general. He was setting there chattering and flipping that long tail about a mile a minute and Mitz was at the other end of the tree yapping in his high pitched voice, calling me to get over there and help him out. I was almost beside myself with excitement and pride. My dog was a real hunting dog and the heck with what anyone else said when I told them about our hunts.
I eased over real slow and careful towards the tree making no noise in the lightly falling rain. The squirrel never saw me as I raised my Pap's old single shot twelve gauge and put that old front sight on the squirrel's head. When that old gun roared, that squirrel came out of that tree like some one had picked him up and throwed him out.
He no more hit the ground than Mitz had him a shaking him from side to side, then he put him down and watched him real careful for a minute. When I got over to him I said," Good boy Mitz, bring him here." He picked him back up and brought him over to me and laid him down right at my feet.
It was really funny. As long as I had the squirrel out where he could see him, Mitz would be content to just look at him and come over and lick him a little. But, after I cleaned him and put him in my hunting coat, he would get excited and jump up at me and try to find him. After I took the squirrel out of my coat a few times and put him back in while Mitz was watching, he finally figured out what I was doing with it and didn't bother about it anymore. Me and Mitz walked up about another three hundred yards along the new path that day and we got one more squirrel before it got late and we had to turn around and head home. I knew better than to be riding that old bike home along that highway after dark. I didn't have any lights on it and that was the surest way to get it took from me, and I sure didn't want that to happen. After all, we had two squirrels, in my coat, and Dad had another home in the freezer, and Mom said that would be enough for squirrel potpie. I surely did like squirrel potpie and this would be especially good because me and Mitz had supplied the fixings. Thirteen wasn't such a bad age to be, I guessed. After all, I was thirteen and had Mitz. What more could a boy want?
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