Spotted Dog Blues

The chill that the dwindling fire left in the room bothered her. It took all her might to summon the nerve to get out from under the layers of warmth that seemed to hug her all over and pull her back to a peaceful sleep. So she lied there and talked herself into making the move, like someone bungee jumping for the first time.

Just then Amy threw back the blankets; her bare feet hitting the hard wood floor before the sheets could float back down to the bed, and ran to her warm coat which was hung on the back of the chair she had been eyeing during her psyche up. The fire was not out, but it had been reduced to nothing more than a few dimly glowing coals, so she threw a few small sticks in to start it back up, and then another decent size log on top of them.

It would take a minute to warm up, she went into the only other room in the small cabin, the kitchen, and started the gas stove to warm up quickly. She put a kettle of water on for some hot chocolate, and thought she might make some pancakes. It was just the right kind of day for them. “Better let the dog in first” she thought.

She stepped out onto the porch, and marveled at the resplendence of the morning. There was no wind, clouds covered all, but the earth was covered with a perfectly white coat of freshly fallen snow, still meandering its way down. Straight down, in flakes as big as half dollars, she could hardly see her barn the snow was so thick. The temperature was cold, but it did not feel bad. It was the kind of cold that gives winter its distinguishable feel, and it made her feel excited, like she should move around.

It was hardly menacing though. She whistled over to the barn, and the white and black spotted dog came bounding through the snow toward her, eager to go into the warm house. The dog stopped at her side and she gave her a pat, and then Amy looked back up to enjoy the beautiful scene. Sitting in front of the door wagging her tail, the spotted dog made her desires clearly known. Amy noticed and when she glanced back at the scene once more, she was surprised to see the old mealy nosed mule out from under the barn. He was looking straight into her eyes and his head and front lip were turned up to the sky in a tense and anxious manner. Though at first she was startled, she laughed at his odd behavior, and went into the house. As she closed the door, the mule snorted and stomped the ground, frustrated his message did not come across.

She drank her coco and continued to stare out the window at the pretty morning, and slowly talked herself into going for a ride on such a nice day. Warm coats and scarves and hats were located and put on and she made her way out to her barn, her rubber snow boots making a clear path to the barn. The old mule was inside by his feed trough waiting for oats, but he did not get them the first of that day, she’d feed him after she rode.

She stepped into his stall and he ran to the back of it. He wouldn’t let her catch him and she was getting frustrated. “Beauvice! What is your problem?!” she yelled. The mule froze finally and let her slip on his bridle; his games of evasion had been of no use. Beauvice, for some reason, just would not go, not this day. When Beauvice was asked to lead forward he did so with a heavy limp in his left front leg, he put not a pound of weight on it, and when she noticed, she turned him loose and fed him his oats. He of course took to them like he had not been fed in years.

“Well Daisy, lets just walk; it’s too nice of a day to sit around inside.” The dog looked up at her with two strong eyes and barked as if to agree. Ole Daisy. Don’t let her name fool you. She was a dog of indeterminate courage. She was faithful, had a good nose, never barked too much at night, wouldn’t chew a shoe, she actually liked the mailman, brought the paper without an ounce of drool on it, never chased cars, wasn’t afraid of vacuum cleaners, and before being spayed, was a breeding machine and the toast of every male dog that ever met her.

They left the cabin and walked down a trail heading west from the house. Amy walked on as Daisy followed behind occasionally diverting off the path to frolic in the powdery whiteness. There was about a foot of snow on the ground so far, not so deep you couldn’t walk in it, but deep enough you couldn’t see the grass.

They came to a meadow. Amy wiped the snow off of a large boulder at the edge of it and sat down to watch. There were a few deer on the other end, digging through the snow for some grass. A skunk lazily made his way across the middle of it while a gang of coons played close to the deer. Two squirrels searched for acorns and hastily made their way back to their tree whenever they found one. Rabbits darted back and forth playing in the new snow. A mother fox and her pup carried a rat that she caught back to their burrow. Birds of all kinds flew and sang their lovely morning tunes as a woodland soundtrack, and a coyote trotted through looking for a meal. It was the kind of scene that inspired you, and made you feel as though all was right. Amy smiled and gave Daisy another pat, as she wished she’d brought a .22 or something, so she could really enjoy it, or maybe a shotty, for the rabbits and birds.

The serenity of the scene pervaded her thoughts and put her at ease, but the spotted dog was slightly on edge. She knew never to become too comfortable in situations like these, in places like these mountains, and as Amy sat and marveled at all the small woodland creatures, the dog kept a close watch.

It was then that things went so terribly wrong. Amy saw it first and, the sight of it made her recoil in horror. Some may think it’s cute, try to grab it, but she knew better, she knew what it meant and she looked at her dog and, breathing heavily and paralyzed with fear simply said, “Oh Snap!” In the exact instance the burst of air that makes the p sound exited her mouth, a mother bear came charging out of the brush in aid of her young cub that had wondered upon the duo out on a winter stroll. But as the bear rushed up behind her, Amy, moving as quickly as lightning; jumped to her feet atop the rock and back flipped over the bear as she charged forward. The dog grabbed her by the nose before she could spin around and Amy bounded up into the safety of a nearby tree with climbing speed that would make Tarzan jealous.

The fight was now on the ground. The bear was of course much stronger, larger, more blood thirsty, but the dog was quick, and she had heart, and those two things go a long way in a fight. Before the bear could respond to the bite on her nose, two paw slaps came down on each side of her muzzle, not hurting so bad, but mocking her with their speed and precision. The bear struck back, but at nothing except air. The dog was already circling. It was David vs. Goliath, the 1980 U.S. Hockey team vs. the U.S.S.R, Floyd Mayweather vs. Butterbean. She took a swipe at the behemoth’s short tail. This enraged the bear (everyone knows they’re self conscious about their little bity tails) and she turned again swiping blindly and frantically.

The dog was just too fast for her. She was realizing this and stopped her frenzied strikes, waiting for the dog to get a little closer which she knew she would. Daisy just circled again and again barking, and as the bear anticipated and wanted, got closer and closer until finally the sow swiped again this time successfully lifting the dog off the ground. But in the air Daisy maneuvered and flipped and writhed and wriggled and put herself deftly right on the bears massive shoulders and bit down onto her neck and locked on like a bulldog on a pig.

The bear roared in rage and tried to reach back and shake the dog off, but a bear’s arms just won’t reach back there so she ran and jumped and tried to buck her off. A spectacle as such you had never seen before and the usually clean mouthed Amy, from up in her tree exclaimed, “Golly Gee Willickers!” once more, this time adding the word “SON!” with extra emphasis at the end.

Daisy was holding on gallantly with her teeth gritted and jaws locked. There would be no tiring her, she was there to hold until the death, and her eyes had rolled into the back of her head showing only the whites. Thought had left the dog’s mind and aggression dominated it completely now. The bear had nearly had enough, she couldn’t pull the dog off or buck her off, so she did the only thing she knew to do, and in her desperation she rolled on the ground, her half-ton of weight knocking the dog’s grip loose and leaving her stunned. The bear spun back to the dog, and being in the dazed state that she was after being rolled under a bear, the dog couldn’t move so quickly, it was then that the bear struck down upon her with her middle and index claw moving straight toward the dog’s eyes in a perfect act of stooge like violence, at the last moment Daisy threw her left paw up to her face, resting it on the bridge of her nose to her forehead, hoping to thwart the ever closing bear claw. The claws reach the paw, both of them sliding past, one on each side just as Daisy planned. The bear’s index claw was long however, and although her paw stopped the claw from reaching her left eye, the bears index claw gouged into her right before the fleshy webbing between the two could be stopped by the clever placement of the dog’s paw.

The bear roared and ran back into the woods, quick to get her cub away from such a dangerous situation. But before the bear could reach the safety of the trees, Amy leaped down on top of her and impaled the bruin with a spear that she had been carving from a limb while the bear and dog fought. The bear was dead instantly, and bled out onto the ground that Amy stood on. She pulled her knife from her pocket and cut out the bear’s heart and took a powerful bite out of it. She looked at the young cub and pulled the spear from the beast. “I will raise you to not hate humans, and I shall call you Caleb, it is a name I have always admired.” She ran to her dog. It was too late though, the damage could not be reversed, and her eye was gone, buried in the snow. Amy picked up the dog and carried her back to the cabin, not because she couldn’t walk, but for dramatic effect. She laid her down by the fire, and sewed the eyehole shut with a splinter of the bear’s claw, and the string of her tendons.

From that day forward, Amy, Daisy, Beauvice, and Caleb lived wildly in the mountains, hunting griz for their fur, and trapping other small game for use in trading with the Flathead, until she came and worked for the sixes a few months ago. Caleb got pretty big, and he ate Beauvice so she was just like, “Aw dang Daisy, guess we better head back down to the flats, I wish had also trained Caleb not to hate mules too.” And Daisy said, or she barked it, if she had the ability to speak anyways she would have been all like “Word Up.”