Charlie

Today is animal day. Oh, good, you're thinking. Another quaint story from Bevie's past. Yeah, I'm afraid so.

Today's topic is Charlie, a stray dog who came onto our place one year and decided to stay. From the first most of us knew there was something wrong with Charlie. Our evidence was quite clear to us. You see, Charlie was the first - and only - animal to take a liking to our mother.

I realize that isn't nice to say (or write), but it is true. Animals just weren't that keen on Mother. Probably because she always seemed to be yelling about something. Animals generally aren't keen on loudness. Makes them scared and/or angry. I remember the feeling well.

Even Daddy thought there was something odd about Charlie. Charlie was probably the only dog which didn't prefer Daddy to just everybody else. Even my Nikki struggled with that for a time - before deciding Daddy was best. Daddy was dominant. Dogs are supposed to bow to dominance. Charlie wasn't like that any more than Mother.

Charlie was very much in appearance like a border collie. He was black and white. But he was bigger, and his hair didn't have that same kind of curl.

He was a nice enough dog - most of the time. He would run and play, although I don't remember that he played fetch. He did a much better job of protecting the place than my Nikki, who was just a pup at the time. He was also much better at something else: killing birds. And the birds he liked to kill were - chickens. Our chickens.

Mother refused to accept that Charlie would ever hurt her chickens. No. Charlie was innocent. It was that g*dd*mned Nikki who was killing them. And if it didn't stop, Nikki would have to go. (In my family's venacular, that meant be shot - with real bullets.)

But I knew for certain it wasn't Nikki. I can still see the picture in my mind as I stood at the kitchen sink getting a drink of water. Nikki was laying down in the back yard. He was cowering, actually. A chicken was standing on his head and pecking on his nose. I swear this is true. It was very humiliating for me to see my dog so. I rushed outside and shooshed the chicken away. At that moment in time I wished Nikki had been the chicken killer.

What was interesting was Charlie's behavior with the chickens whenever one of us was outside to watch. He ignored them. They could walk quite close to him. (I noted none ever tried to jump on his head and peck him on the snout, though.) There was no direct evidence, but we kids knew it had to be him. But until he was caught in the act, Mother would not acknowledge it.

He was clever in how he got the chickens, although it doesn't take too much cleverness to outwit a chicken. At that time we had a small fence which squared off an narrow area before the front door. I can't remember why Mother thought that was a good idea. It truly added to the image of the place. The old house with wood fenceposts and chicken wire across the front. It could be she had kept the chickens there when they were too small to jump out. I don't remember.

What I do remember is that Charlie liked to lay right at the entrance to this man-made canyon. Helvie and I watched him one day. The chickens were coming by. We wanted to see him go after them. To our disappointment, he didn't. Didn't even pay them a look as they walked about. Then, just as we were about to give up, three chickens decided to investigate the canyon. Charlie didn't go after them, but we saw his head move with interest. So we stayed. He let the chickens work their way deep in. Then he got to his feet, turned on them, and made his move. Since we were watching we were able to intervene and save the chickens - that time. But when we told Mother she in effect called us liars. Charlie didn't do that.

I once saw Charlie take a wild bird. It was a pigeon, but I thought it was still impressive. I had come outside to see him crawling on his belly. At first I couldn't determine why. Then I saw the pigeon, eating whatever off the ground. Charlie would move just a little at a time. His back haunches were constantly tense. I knew he would never get close. But I didn't realize Charlie had a plan. The bird flew right about when I thought it would. Charlie jumped. Not at the bird, but high into the air - where the bird was going. He reached his zenith just as the bird passed through. He caught it and pulled it down. Quite amazing, I thought.

One day, Charlie disappeared. Mother sent Helvie and me all over to look for him. Perhaps he had been hit by a car. We searched the ditches and walked the tracks (train tracks) but found no sign. It appeared Charlie had left as quietly as he had arrived.

Then, what seemed like an incredibly long time, he was back. He was guant and ravenous. And one of his feet was damaged. It turned out he had been in a trap. One of our neighbors ran a trap line. For what, I don't know. We were rural, but not that rural. But not only was our neighbor an idiot, he was a cruel idiot. He only checked his trap lines like once ever week - if even that. Charlie had been held in that trap for several days.

He was never the same after that. From that moment on the look in his eyes was scary. But if one should dare mention it to Mother she would get angry. When Charlie began to turn on us, she said she didn't blame him after all the nasty things we said about him. But then one day Charlie's insanity drove him to attack Mother. Now she had to believe. But I think it was more than that. I think Mother felt betrayed. Anyway, Charlie did not get shot. Mother drove him to a kennel which dealt with such things. For years after she would talk about Charlie with great affection, as though he had been the best dog we had ever owned. I suppose, from her perspective, he was. I remember she treated Nikki badly for a long time, as though it had somehow been his fault.