A Dog Tale

George was my dog, growing up. He was a lovable, rambunctious mutt who was a partner in many of my adventures around the farm. We had other dogs, through the years whom I loved just as much, but George was the first pet that I felt was "mine." We were pretty tight.

 He was not a large dog, but he was fearless with other dogs and jealous of my attention. Scruffy, sweet and feisty.

I have so many fond memories in which ole Gerogie-porgie played a part. The one I'm about to unfold made a huge impression on me and made a hero out of someone I already loved.

One of the main features of our farm was the Hog House. It was a state of the art building, the very latest in hog farming technology. In the Hog House office, resided my Uncle D's ex-police dog, a big German Shepherd named Boss who answered only to Uncle D. Boss was always nice to me, and we liked him and petted him, but he really was HUGE and intimidating.

One day, as I was playing down around the barn, I headed past the Hog House with George at my heels, and didn't notice that the office door had been left ajar. George did. When Boss stuck his huge head out of the open door, little George made a bee line for him. Boss, leapt down the steps towards him and for a few endless, breathless seconds they just stood and growled at each other, fangs bared. I was struck dumb with breathless terror. I KNEW what was about to happen and there was nothing I could do. And when it did happen, it was with the suddenness and volume of a car crash. Boss had poor little George by the throat and was shaking him mercilessly. I screamed and screamed at Boss to stop, but my small voice was lost in the din.

I was horrified and helpless. The teenaged farmhand heard the din and came running. At my harried, tearful suggestion, he yelled and hit Boss with a shovel, but it was no use---the big guy wasn't even phased--he continued to tear into my poor George. I ran to the farm truck, turned the key and the engine  started (something I had NEVER done before and had only a vague notion of even HOW to do!). This activated the CB radio system that was installed up at our house and in all of the farm/family vehicles. I pleaded, through my tears, into the CB for someone to please help----"Boss is killing George!!"I sobbed.

I was completely desperate. There was no one to help! There was nothing I could do. All I could think of was getting Boss to let go of George. I reached into my back pocket and felt for one of my most prized possessions---my eagle claw knife. I pulled it out and looked up at the farmhand. " I have this...?" and gestured with the knife. To which he replied "Naw…I'm not doin' that. I'm afraid he'd turn on me, man".

He is a coward, I thought to myself. I had always thought of him as almost an adult---now he seemed just as young and helpless as me. Truth was, I was terrified, too, seeing how fast and powerful and huge Boss really was in action. I ran back into the Hog House, where Boss had drug George, teeth still gripping his neck, biting and snarling and shaking the smaller dog like a rag doll. George was making less and less noise and I became even more scared and started crying harder.

I ran back outside, sobbing desperately. I reached into my back pocket and once again pulled out the knife. I remember the seconds ticking by like hours as I stood looking at that curved blade; hearing the awful din of my dog being killed. If I stabbed Boss, would it make him let go of George? Would he then turn his terrifying fury on me? Should I do it? COULD I do it?

Thankfully, I did not have to make that decision. At that moment I heard a coughing noise from up the road. I looked up to see a sight that, to this day is burned into my memory. It was my Uncle D. He was running towards me down the barn road, flannel shirt untucked and flapping. He was literally gasping for air and stumbling, pale as a ghost, but running, all the same.

I don't know what was more shocking to me at that moment: Looking up to see him there (I had no idea he was anywhere around) or seeing him "running". Adults, in my world, did not run.

Turns out, poor Uncle D was very ill with the flu and was up at our house sleeping when he had heard my pitiful, sobbing plea come over the CB's base unit. Sick and weak as he was, he jumped up and ran ALL the way, more than half a mile, down to the Hog House to save my poor George.

I never will forget, after the initial shock of seeing him actually moving at a pace faster than his usual cool saunter, the relief that began to fill my whole being when I realized help had arrived. Uncle D ran straight past me and into the Hog House and got Boss off of George. He looked absolutely terrible, panting and gaunt from sickness, but he saved my George and he saved the day.

   At about the same time, Mom and Dad came barreling down the barn road in their car, dust flying. They also, had heard my call come over the CB. Before I could think what to do next, George was running past me. He'd been freed from his attacker by Uncle D, and was high-tailing it straight to the house. I could see the blood on his neck, but he was moving fast and I took that as a good sign!

Well, after a trip to the vet and a whole bunch of stitches, George was on the mend.
And in a few days, he was back to his spunky, feisty self. He was forbidden from accompanying me to the barn, for a while until new quarters could be arranged for Boss. Other than that, life was back to normal.

 Uncle D never said a word about having to run down, sick as a dog, and and literally save George's neck. And, heck, he may not even remember it now. But I do. I'll never forget that day. Uncle D was my hero.

 When talking about this story, years and years later my sister wisely commented "I remember that day. I remember hearing your voice on the radio coming into the house. I remember Uncle D taking off out of the house. I can assure you it was not for George that he ran........it was for you!"

Thanks, Uncle D!