Tag Archives: Literary Pets

Shame

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I went out on the porch awhile ago and was having a conversation with the dogs when a doe walked through the edge of the garden. His hackles on end, Shrek jumped down the steps putting on a display of proud ferocity. The doe stopped walking and stood looking at him with disinterest. Shrek halted short of the defiant deer, confidence waning. After a half minute of indecision, he looked back at me standing on the porch watching and started the heartbroken moaning that only he can do, the shame and embarrassment too much for him to endure. He stumbled back to the porch and climbed the steps his head hanging low. I fetched him a treat and gave him encouragement. I vigorously told him that he was a good boy but he was unconvinced.

Late last night, we had heard an animal sound up in the field. Ian said it sounded like a goat. I took that to mean a doe was talking to a newborn. And as is the case when they have a small fawn, the mothers stop playing the game of politely running a short distance when Shrek tries to impress me. The politics are interesting. A few years ago we had a doe who would actually chase the little dogs if they came too near. She was a hard core good mother.

Neighbor Kid

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In my little workshop building, there is a backroom I use as an office. I was sitting in there yesterday with the cat upon my lap, when in through the open door walked a young raccoon. I assume he was just looking for cat food, but thinking him rude, I told him so and off he ran in surprise.

ES Independent Column – Theo Jackson

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In my novel, Murder in the Ozarks, Andy attends church one Sunday morning. “A tall man with a crew cut and black-framed glasses met Andy at the door, welcomed him by name, and handed him a photocopied program.” That line is my earliest recollection of Theo Jackson, handing out bulletins Sunday mornings before church when I attended with Granny. He knew everybody, and everybody knew him.

Theo was a direct descendant of the pioneer doctor Alvah Jackson, the man who many consider the founding father of Eureka Springs. Theo Jackson made a big impression on me. He had a large farm in the Rock Springs area east of Eureka Springs and he was a man of stature in the community and in his church. I was always impressed with how he carried himself with both humor and dignity. We once attended one of his mountain oyster parties and he was a gracious host.

Theo is someone whom I regret that I’ll not have another conversation with. In fact, I feel like he and I started some conversations that were still in play; conversations that we never finished. The last time we talked was in the barber shop and we continued a conversation we’d been having for twenty years about coyotes and wolves.

We lived on Rock Springs Road at one time and Theo was a neighbor. We had a half-grown Anatolian Shepherd pup named Frost and I was concerned about Frost getting along with Theo’s dog. Theo pulled in one day and his dog jumped out of the truck. Frost was probably 80 pounds then and put the dog back into the truck. I apologized, but Theo just said that Frost was doing his job. Over time, Theo grew to think a lot of Frost. He said that he liked to drive by and see Frost standing out with his cows in the pasture because that meant there were no predators around. After we moved to the hollow, Theo called a couple of times just to ask how Frost was doing.

Theo Ulysses Jackson died August 1, 2015 at the age of 88. He will be missed.

End of an Era: RIP Chandler

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After seven short years with us, our Bullmastiff named Chandler passed away May 16, 2014. He was polite, strong and dignified, but worn down by the years and poor health. When he first came to us years ago he was just skin and bones, weighing only 95 pounds. Late in life he was more like 125. Quiet except for the occasional “big dog bark” warning to coyotes and strangers late at night, he kept a watchful eye upon us and the other dogs.

Chandler Standing Tall compressed

holdingchandler

Chandler by Barbara Mourglia Sideview

 

Chandler Backview and Lewie by Barbara Mourglia

Chandler by Barbara Topview

Ozark Hollow Eureka Springs Chandler Weems

 

Steve Weems and ChandlerIMG_7352

Eureka Springs Independent Newspaper Column for October 10, 2013

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Today, after the rain had stopped and the sun had brightened the blue, clearing sky, a Barred Owl called out from the edge of the woods. After what seemed like too long a time, another owl answered and then far down the hollow a third responded. Isn’t that an omen, an owl calling during the day?

In the third grade, I played the male lead opposite Wendy the Witch in the Halloween play. What was odd about the whole deal was that I was even cast as Mr. Owl. I was new to the school and was so quiet that I was known as a barely functional mute. But I still remember my grand entrance with the construction paper feathers taped to my brown long-sleeved shirt, trying to project “T’wit, t’woo, I’m here to help you!” to the back row of the little auditorium. I’ve identified with owls ever since.

I was pleased when we moved into the hollow and would hear the eerie call of the little Screech Owl or the occasional deep hoot of a Great Horned Owl. Once I saw a white-faced Barn Owl in the barn, of all places.

But it is all Barred Owls these days. Barred Owls are pretty big, their wingspans nearly as wide as the windshield on the vehicle I drive. I know this because they sometimes swoop down toward the road as I drive through the woods into the hollow, and then pull up just before they hit the windshield. In the moment that we are face to face with only safety glass between us, the owl looks huge.

A year or two ago, owlets were raised and they sure could kick up a cacophony trying to learn how to do the “hoohoo-hoohoo, hoohoo-hoohooaw!” of their parents. They did this every night in the tall trees behind the chicken house, making the hens and Mr. Crowe very nervous. A group of owls is called a parliament, so we have a parliament of Barred Owls in the hollow.

Some say an owl hooting during the day is a portent of death and doom. I don’t mind.

The Deer Woods

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This is the time of year that local hunters head for the deer woods, sometimes even here into this forested hollow. The neighborhood dogs like this as they find pieces of deer that they happily bring home on which to gnaw. Here a happy Dachshund works over a leg.

 

The Big Man is Inside

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The leaves are turning nicely and the nights can be quite cool, so we decided after all these years that The Big Man should come in the house at night. The Big Man is Chandler, our resident tiger-stripe brindle Bullmastiff that was abandoned several years ago and ended up in the hollow with us. We do not know what his name was previously but since his arrival he answered to Big Man though he also quickly learned his name as Chandler.

We call him Big Man because he is pretty big, though not huge. He tips the scales at about 110 pounds, but just looks like a big dog. With his wide chest and massive head he appears bigger than many dogs that are more sizeable.

We also do not know Chandler’s age, but Bullmastiffs are a short-lived animal, often only lasting six or eight years. He is arthritic in his hips and shoulders and sometimes has trouble getting around, except when trouble strikes. If the coyotes get too close at night or a strange vehicle shows up at an odd time, he goes into protection mode and the years melt away. Adrenaline is an amazing chemical and the transformation can be impressive. Chandler will stand in such a way with his elbows out and his head high and pulled back to display his thick, muscular neck that his size seems to increase and he looks quite intimidating. He saves his “big dog bark” for just such occasions and I have seen the littler dogs hide behind him in scary situations.

But The Big Man is mostly a polite sweetheart. With his British ancestry and self-effacing ways, we imagine him as a proper English gentleman speaking in a rural English accent, wearing a flat cap and plaid vest and smoking a long-stemmed pipe. He would say, “Dear boy, pass those biscuits this way. That’s a good lad.”

When it cools down in the evening, he comes in the house and heads straight to his big pillow about eight feet inside the front door. He does not leave it for any reason. Occasionally he will stand and turn in circles finding a more comfortable position, but he has never once attempted to explore the house. He is so polite that he would not wander even with an engraved invitation. And he can sleep, sometimes twelve hours at a stretch.

So hopefully Chandler is enjoying what may be his end stage of life. We hope he carries on for many years to come but recognize the grim possibilities. Though he no longer accompanies me on hikes in the woods, he is still as loyal and remarkable as ever, whether he is warning coyotes to stay away or just curled up in his bed, his snoring vibrating the floor.

Deer vs. Dogs

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Yesterday, I was at our neighbor’s and a deer came down the road and crossed into the yard. The deer stopped when it saw our smaller dog, Lewie, and the two stared at each other for a long moment. Then sensing the deer’s presence, Noodles, the dachshund went on the attack with Lewie close behind. The two canines ran at the deer barking, but the deer didn’t run – it lowered its head and ran at the dogs. Bewildered by this odd turn of events, the two dogs stopped until Chandler the bullmastiff came running from another direction and chased away the deer.

Attached is a photograph of the deer chaser himself, Chandler.