My First Dog

Growing up I always wanted a dog. The desire was so strong I would drag every stray dog I could find home, to beg my parents to let me keep him, but it never worked out. My parents were good at finding the dog’s owner.

While I was still in the 8th grade we moved from a suburb in a large city to a small town. It was not something I enjoyed and only got worse when we moved out to the country. My parents thought it was heaven. I had another word for it, for there wasn't another kid around for miles.

Shortly afterwards my Dad showed up with a black ball of fur that was all paws. A puppy just for me, but not just any mutt like I had been bringing home, a real hunting dog. A Labrador. Suddenly my hell had turned to heaven in an instant, for not only did I have a hunting dog of my own, but I could go hunting right out our back door.

Then my Dad let the other boot drop as they say. Not only had he brought home a Lab puppy, but he also brought home a German Shepherd puppy. I went from a life of broken emptiness, to complete fullness. I had the best of both worlds, a hunting dog, and a guard dog.

Dad named the German Shepherd “Jack” for some unknown reason, and I named the Lab “Hoss” after my favorite character on Bonanza, for if his paws were any indication, he was going to be a big boy.

The summer flew by with the pups growing by leaps and bounds. When Fall finally arrived it was time to go hunting. Realistically it was too early to expect anything from the pups, but Dad was just as anxious to go with the dogs as I was. Then the disappointment and the surprise.

Hoss had no desire to hunt. He was just content to walk behind us and follow happily along. Jack on the other hand was a natural hunter. He worked the fields at just the right distance in front of us, and scared up many pheasants. I can’t say how well he retrieved because we actually never knocked a bird down, but that’s another story.

My day dreams of hunting with Hoss after school were shattered, but I consulted myself with Jack and how cool it was to have a guard dog and a hunting dog all in one.

That dream was also shattered a week later when we went to town with the dogs, and Jack was stolen out of the back of the pickup. The irony of a guard dog being stolen wasn't lost on me.

Christmas brought a boy without a driver’s license the best gift he could ask for, an old dirt bike. A dog just didn’t seem that great any more, especially since all he had shown he was good at was eating, and putting his face in your lap, wanting to be petted just after he got a drink of water. Don't get me wrong, he was still my best friend, but I had been given keys to the world. Hoss was just going to have to wait at home.

Hoss taught me otherwise when the weather cleared. I tried for a half hour to get Hoss to mind and stay home. For some reason my normally well behaved dog wouldn’t mind. I finally had to tie him to a tree, which lasted until I got to the end of the driveway. He had grown into his name, and broke his collar.

I gunned the bike to show him he couldn’t keep up, but he just kept coming. My timid, lazy dog was running faster than I thought possible, and with a heart unwilling to quit. Hoss followed me all summer long, and by fall was looking like Schwarzenegger in his prime.

One day as we were riding/running across a freshly disc field, Hoss just stopped, making a perfect statue. I watched him as I turned the bike around. Suddenly he jumped, and started to dig. By the time I reached him, he was done and playing with his prize, a burrowing rat, a gopher. I watched him for a couple of minutes while he played with it, then he gave it a good shake, killing it, and laid it at my feet with great pride in his eyes. This became almost a daily routine until he got the gopher population thinned down. What amazed me was there was never any evidence of a gopher digging in the area.

By Pheasant season he was a changed dog. I had a great hunting dog, whom had never been trained. One time we were out hunting, but all he would scare up were hens, which we're not allowed to shoot. He would get so excited waiting for me to shoot it, and each time I didn’t he would give me a disgusted look, saying he had done his job, why wasn’t I doing mine?

He sulked all the way home, and he still had a disgusted look on his face as I went into the house to make a sandwich. When I came out of the house with sandwich in hand, I found him sitting and waiting for me with a hen laying in front of him, as if to show me what I was suppose to shoot.

We got another surprise we found hard to believe at first, but there were just too many comments for different people to deny it. Hoss was a great guard dog. Even though he hardly ever got up from his corner when someone came over, and I don’t think I ever heard him bark, ever, he was quite different when we were gone. I guess he put on such a show with growling and barking, even long time friends he knew wouldn’t get out of their cars.

Hoss even melted Mom’s heart. For her pets were O.K., but there place was outside, not in her neat as a pin home. I’m not sure how it happened, but Hoss went from sleeping in the heated shop, to being in the house all of the time. She also made sure he had a full bowl of food, and plenty of table scraps. Surprisingly he never got fat.

I cried when I thought I had lost him when he ran out across the road in front of a small car doing 45 mph. I watched all four tires of the car come off the ground as it went over him. In a blink of an eye he was running to me with only a small patch of fur missing and both of us scared to death. He never ran out into the road again.

By the time I graduated and was going off to college, it was clear he wouldn’t be coming with me, for he was no longer my dog, but the family dog, and his place was at home.

Unfortunately time catches up with us all, even a dog able to take on a Volkswagen. He had slowed down considerably when he hit ten years old, but his eyes were as bright as ever, and we helped him out with different herbs and supplements to combat his arthritis. His hunting days were done, but his value wasn’t diminished to anyone. He had long earned a rest, and a comfortable retirement.

The joy and brightness in his eyes slowly left as the cancer got worse each week and when he couldn’t get up any more, Dad took him to be put to sleep. He was thirteen years old, and everyone cried for the loss of Hoss. I’ve had a couple of great dogs since then, but my first Best Friend has a place in my heart, and is still missed.