Back in December I wrote about Royal Nicholas Zwei. He was a Norwegian Elkhound Spouse and I got when we lived in Delano. Nikki was named after a dog I was given when I was in junior high: Royal Nicholas of Winona.
We got Royal Nikki after a miscommunication with a friend of Daddy's. For some reason, Daddy's friend was moving and they needed to get rid of their dog: a giant Malamut. Daddy and his friend came home from the bar early and we all piled into our car to follow the friend to his house and pick up the dog. Unfortunately, when we arrived another family had pre-empted us and was in the process of taking the dog from the wife. Never one to argue - unless it was called for - Daddy said all was well and we drove home. Helvie and I didn't think it was all right. We had first claim. So what if the others actually got there first? So the following weekend Daddy drove us to a breeder's kennel and we got Royal Nicholaus.
Like all dogs and cats, Royal Nikki chose one of our family to call his own. He chose me. When we put him in the center of the living room and formed a circle, he always came to me. So he slept in my room. I made up a nice little box with a blanket in the corner. And I spread newspaper over the floor.
But Nikki wasn't content to sleep alone in a box in the corner. He would sit at the side of my bed and whine until I lifted him up to curl beside my head. Later, he would whine to get down on the floor. When he had finished with his business he whined to get back up.
Nikki was the first dog my parents ever purchased. Up to then we always got mutt dogs, which were fine and wonderful. But Nikki was purebred. My parents paid $100 to get him, which was even more money then than it is now. Nikki may have been precious to me, but he was valuable to my parents. So when a new neighbor down the road began threatening to shoot any dog who happened on his property (the man raised game birds - we lived in the country) I was told to tie Nikki up evenings and when I was at school. Easier said than done.
I put a collar on him and staked him in the yard. The next morning Nikki was running free - his collar still chained to the stake. All that hair. Collars just weren't going to work. So we purchased a nice harness. After all, Elkhounds are sled dogs, right? Next morning, Nikki is running around free. Oh, he's still chained to the stake, but despite the stake being eighteen inches long and curved like a corkscrew, Nikki has pulled it out of the ground (sandy soil, you know). New Plan. Before leaving for school I chained Nikki to the front screen door.
When I got off the bus the first thing I noticed was that Nikki was not by the house. He was waiting for me by the road. The second thing I noticed was that the screen door was no longer on the house. It was right beside Nikki. I ran to the house and Nikki got their first - pulling his door. I continued to add to his trailer. Eventually, he was pulling a door, two large foundation bricks and a tractor tire. What was so incredible was that, even with this last bit, Nikki could actually keep up with me. And when I released him so he could run free - Wow!
Our final solution was to take the plunge and fence the yard. (Back then Country Folk didn't do that much.) Since Nikki was my dog I was the one who got to dig the holes, set the posts, stretch the wire and put in the gate. (Chicken wire. We couldn't afford chain link.) That was all done after the original house burned.
Nikki also made a decent watch dog. I remember when the woman from Jehovah's Witnesses came. He wouldn't let her on the yard. Good dog. Then there was the week Daddy took Helvie and me fishing in Canada. We got back and were heading into the house when Nikki came tearing around the corner. Apparently, he had been sleeping and only just realized his territory had been violated. He came charging full tilt, and I could see he was going to tear me apart. I stared with horror - and then amusement - as I saw his eyes change from pure anger to dismay. He braced himself to stop, but he had already made his leap. I stood and watched as he slid past and crashed into the fence. He got up and game to me with head low and tongue lagging. I knelt.
Oh, Nikki. You are an idiot! But I love you.
When Daddy got sick and we had to leave the house and move to an apartment I was convinced to let Grandma take Nikki to her house up at Willow River. But Grandma was jealous because Nikki was taking up step-Grandpa's time. So Grandma, not comprehending anything about dogs having value, gave him away to some people she knew. When I found out I drove 100 miles to get my dog back. I was mad at Grandma. Madder than I had ever been. When I saw her I told her it was all right. (Can you stay mad at your grandma? If you can then I feel sorry for you.) She told me where he was and I drove there.
There was Nikki. Guarding his new home. He had a yard and a family to protect. I said goodbye and I drove home. Goodbye, Nikki.
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