Tales from the Bark Side

By Keith Ross | The Daily Journal

Published Saturday, December 1, 2007

Welcome back to the bark side of life here in Ottertail where the landscape has lately shown a whiter shade of pale. Yes, winter may be late this year but I'm sure we are in for a full bag of frozen treats, and not the kind you can eat in front of the TV either.

Black Friday has come and gone and the only remnants of Thanksgiving are the frozen turkey in our freezer. Time marches on.

Although time flows mercilessly towards the future, there is some comfort in looking back in time to a place where life was sweet and simple.

I would like to share one of my tales from my book that is presently being published titled, “Tales From The Bark Side (The Book),” and available at Victor Lundeen. I will post the dates and times where I will be having book signings.

More info on that subject to come in a later issue. Now, a tale about a courageous dog that had no quit in him.

When I was a child, growing up on a farm in west central Washington, we had a dog named Bootsie, a cross between a German Shepherd and Siberian Husky.

He was allowed to run freely on our 20-acre farm and he patrolled the front yard like a dedicated sentry.

Bootsie got his name from the four white paws he so prominently displayed.

He would lie in wait at the edge of the gravel road, watching for a tell-tale fast moving dust cloud to appear. He would chase after the miscreant motorist as they zoomed past the house, giving up the pursuit after 100 yards or so, and proudly strut back to his waiting position, his tongue hanging out in glorious rapture.

This was a behavior that was frowned upon by my dad and mom but nobody seemed to have the time or inclination to modify Bootsie's bad habit. I was a toddler who loved to see the big dog run and I saw no reason to stop him, even if I could.

The years passed and eventually, so did the car chasing canine. Looking back in time can teach but it can not mend the fractures of an ignorant era.

Bootsie was a fiercely-driven dog with tremendous territorial traits and he kept a keen eye out for four-legged invaders too. We had a chicken ranch/farm which at the highest point housed 3,000 chickens in three different dwellings.

Skunks would attempt to prey upon the unsuspecting flock in the middle of the night, seeking out those who had recently laid eggs. Bootsie would come to the rescue of the sequestered flock.

One memorable morning, our attention was directed to one of the chicken houses by the loud and vicious barking of our courageous canine. Bootsie had cornered a skunk under one of the buildings and was in the process of getting sprayed with skunk juice every time he got close to the black-and-white fiend.

He'd let out a whelp and then would snarl even louder. The smell was stiflingly acrid and nobody in our family ventured out of the house to quell the angered animal.

It seemed like he spent the entire morning repeating this agonizing but courageous act. At some point in this contest of wills, the skunk finally ran out of perfume and Bootsie closed in for the kill. He proudly brought out his prize which he proceeded to shake viciously for at least 15 minutes.

My mom made a potion of egg and tomato juice which she applied liberally to Bootsie's coat. It helped knock down the odor somewhat. This recipe has been passed down generation to generation and is still the recommended way to deal with skunk odor. The skunk smell seemed to hang around forever but Bootsie wore his tomato juice suit like a red badge of courage.