Laddie

When I was 7 or 8 years old, my Dad brought home a puppy. He was a yellow Mountain Cur, which he got from one of his fellow workers at the hardwood flooring mill. I was a huge Lassie fan at the time, but you can't name a male dog - Lassie (little did I know back then). Instead, we named him Laddie.

Laddie's first night at our house wasn't the greatest. He was missing his mother and litter mates. His howls echoed in the Oaks and Hickories of our yard and adjoining woods. The little dog house with the leather hinges on the door wasn't where he wanted to be. And Mom's NO DOGS IN THE HOUSE rule wasn't about to be broken. I talked to him through the rough cut lumber until he settled down and we both went to sleep. Dad picked me up and carried me back to bed.

Laddie was the best friend the only boy in the neighborhood could have. While sisters were doing their thing, Laddie and I kept all the squirrels and rabbits nervous. That first summer as we both grew up and in devotion to each other was the greatest. The next year, Dad went to work in the meat department of Lentz Cee Bee. Laddie was one lucky dog... Bones to chew on and "out of date" packaged meats as his evening meal. When Dad drove up, Laddie knew there was something special waiting for him.

Laddie had one bad habit - he loved to chase cars, especially those that headed west on the dirt road in front of the house. When he heard a car round the curve at the Charles Creek Cemetery, Laddie would make his way to the corner of the house. When the car was at our driveway, off he would sprint. He wore a path through the weeds and grass parallel to the road and then down the bank to the red clay and limestone gravel.

"Sic'em Laddie" was all I had to say to get him running into the Woods on the east side of the house. He wouldn't return until he found the tree where a squirrel had taken refuge. He took to his nature of hunting, even though we hunted with him only occasionally. Any wild animal was his prey and game.

Skunks are everywhere in Middle Tennessee. Drive very far at night and the unmistakable scent of an unhappy skunk will quickly fill the interior. The earlier 70's were also the time of a great Rabies epidemic. Skunks and foxes were the main carriers and news reports told of various domestic animals being attacked.

One afternoon, as I walked out of the back door, Laddie got between me and the tire swing that hung from the huge Oak by the clothes line. He wouldn't let me pass. As I moved to the right, a small black and white figure jumped out of the tall grass at the edge of the yard. It hissed and started toward us. Laddie grabbed it and slung it back out of the yard and gave chase. I could hear the yelps of pain as the sharp teeth tore into Laddie's flesh. I ran into the house and called Uncle James (Mom and Dad worked late on Friday evenings). He arrived in just a few minutes. His .22 rifle in hand, the told me to stay in the house and he followed the sounds down in the Clay Gullies. Moments later, two shots rang out. The skunk was no more and Laddie limped home behind Uncle James.

When Mom and Dad got home, Laddie was still licking his wounded legs. I told Dad how Laddie had protected me and kept me from walking right into the skunk's path. Dad said, "Son, you should be proud of Laddie. He did what he was suppose to do. But there is something I've got to do now." Dad explained that even though Laddie had his Rabies Shot, they weren't as effective as they are today and Laddie was suffering from injuries.

Dad retrieved the Mossburg from his closet and Laddie, even in his pain, jumped to his feet and was ready to hunt as Dad stepped on the back porch. They walked together to the Clay Gullies. A single shot ripped through the night and my heart.

Forty years later, I still fondly remember the smell of the yellow fuzz ball that rode home in the front seat of a Skyblue Chevy. I can wait to see ya at the Rainbow Bridge!