Adventures with Daddy

 

Last night just about dark, it occurred to me that I need a GPS tracker on Scout. This was not the first time I had that thought.  I was opening the gate to the barn lot (something I like to avoid whenever possible because it is one of those gates you have to drag) so I could take the Kubota in search of Scout and the puppies.  I had already called, rang the treat bell and driven up the road and through the front pasture and there was no sign of a large Collie and four errant puppies. I knew they were together.  They are almost always together. 

From the time those little puppy legs could halfway keep up with Scout’s long legs, they have followed him to places I don’t know about and probably don’t want to know about.  I do know he has shown them the branch down in the holler.  They came from that direction, wet, muddy and tired, with little tongues hanging out.  I suspect he might have shown them the pond, although I shudder at the thought.  I imagine he has explained to them about cows and I certainly hope he has warned them about coyotes and skunks.  Their first trip was to what we call the “sinkhole field” because it has a large sinkhole at one end.  He came back without them that time and I had to go in search.  They came running when they saw me from the very edge of the field and rode back in triumph in the Kubota. 

Since then, it has been a daily event.  “Where are the puppies?” I ask Sophie, who doesn’t seem to worry about their whereabouts at all.  Sophie is not a helicopter parent at this point.  The days of warning Scout away from the litter passed as soon as they became mobile and she has been perfectly happy to turn parenting duties over to him, other than at mealtime.  Her responsibility in that field has passed too and she doesn’t participate in the daily adventures.  In fact, she stays as far away from them as possible.

I try to look at it as a form of doggy boy scouts (with one girl in the mix).  “Now look here,” says Scout, “this is water.  You lay in it, then you find a really nice spot of loose dirt to dry off in.  It makes a nice coating of mud on your legs and belly.  You’ll love it!”  Or maybe he teaches them to chase rabbits, although what they would do with one if they caught one, I don’t know.  I know what he teaches them at the house.  Chase around the couch, keep away, dismantle the cushion, shred the paper and tug o war. 

The main reason I was concerned about their whereabouts last night was the groundhog.  Two nights ago, Bear did not come in the house at bedtime.  I called him several times but he occasionally chooses to stay outside all night so I wasn’t worried.  The next morning, as I was leaving for an appointment, I discovered a dead groundhog just outside the front yard fence.  Bear was on guard, daring anyone else to get near it.  He has a tendency, as most dogs do, to find or kill things and bring them home to display for a few days.  Last Thanksgiving, as their contribution to the festivities, the dogs brought what I think was a large deer hide to display in the front yard.  Sometimes he eats them, usually in the most public spot he can find.  More often he just lets them lie there until I manage to trick him into letting someone dispose of them.  That’s what I had done earlier yesterday.  I knew the carcass was going to deteriorate rapidly, so I asked my cousin to take it off down in the pasture.  It occurred to me while I was on puppy search that Scout might have discovered the burial site and taken his boys to participate in the exhumation.  I could just picture all of them feasting on an overripe groundhog.

Just about the time I got through the gate from hell, Scout arrived triumphantly in the back yard, followed by his kids.  Scout always likes to make an entrance, whether from a long trip around the farm or a short trip outside for potty duty.  A quick count told me the fearless four were present and accounted for.  They were, of course, wet and muddy.  It had rained most of the day and all the dogs had spent their time napping in the house.  I had spent a good part of the day cleaning up the mess they had made, happily tearing up old magazines and pulling the stuffing out of the corner of the dog bed.  “Where have  you been?” I asked, as I always do. I didn’t expect an answer; Scout just wagged his tail and grinned at me and the puppies bounced up and down in excitement.  I thought again how I wish they could talk.  I would love to hear their version of their adventures with Daddy.  What does he tell them?  I probably don’t really want to know.