Vet’s office visit sparks memory of another Char Pei

By Keith Ross | The Daily Journal

Published Saturday, June 9, 2007

Welcome back to the bark side of life here in Ottertail where yours truly has to drive around painted turtles while mowing my lawns (if you only knew how long it takes to mow the whole property you'd know I'm not bragging.) I actually wait for them to finish whatever egg laying and fertilizing they're doing in that hole they just dug.

These days, with the skies laden with rain and about to drench us at any given moment, you have to get your outdoor chores done in a hurry.

I saw a Char Pei at my veterinarian's office and this one was a full grown adult without the “cute” wrinkly face. To me they just look like a pit bull who is extremely worried. They are lovable creatures all the same and this one reminded me of a pit bull I once knew when I was in Canada in the mid 1970s. His name was Bruno but the story of Bruno can't be told without first describing his owner, who was an Aussie named Colin Rogerson.

I know Colin won't mind me telling this tale because I've heard him tell it on numerous occasions.

Colin was (and I'm sure he still is) a pot stirrer or instigator or whatever name you'd put on him. He was living in North America and was experiencing a cultural meltdown it seems because he called everybody from Vancouver to Boston a “Yank.”

This didn't bode too well with the local folks in British Columbia. Colin always seemed to forget that part of Columbia (British). I've been told that the Brits and the Aussies have their collective differences and have great national pride in their own homelands. The Canadians are somewhere in between all that political falderal.

While working abroad in England, Colin purchased a white pit bull with a sparkling personality and lots of get up and go. Colin used this personality trait to his advantage on more than one occasion. For those of you who have opinions on pit bulls, they actually are very loving dogs.

The Staffordshire Terrier and the Bull Terrier are bred many times for their endurance and their strength. Bulldogs in general are tenacious and have no quit in them. Do you kind of know where this story is headed? Hmmm?

A warm summer day in Vancouver, does one thing in particular. It brings people outdoors by the droves. Vancouver has some very well-kept and meticulous landscaped properties and I lived in such a neighborhood and it was a treat to walk around and enjoy other people's horticultural pursuits.

Colin and I shared a house and many times our schedules were just polar opposites and we didn't get much time to spend together so when we found ourselves outside our house, Colin decided to take Bruno for a walk. We set off on a walk that I'll never forget in this lifetime.

Colin loved to tease Bruno by calling out to him, “Watch out for the pussycats, Bruno!” He emphasized the “psssst” part of pussycat so that Bruno's ears were to their full extension and was in attack mode. We approached a house with a front porch and a wonderful bay window on each side of the door.

Lying in a supine position in an open window and apparently asleep, was a yellow and orange tabby cat. It had to weigh at least 15 pounds. Colin brought that fact to Bruno's attention and the bull dog sprung from Colin's loosely held leash like he was shot from a cannon.

The cat saw what was coming up the sidewalk and decided to jump back into the living room for safety from the crazed canine. Bruno went through the open window without a moment's hesitation and Colin casually strolled up to the door and yelled in his nasal Australian drawl, “Stop chasing the pussycat” once again emphasizing the pssst of the word.

You could hear barking and the sound of unidentifiable objects crashing to the hardwood floor, and thrown in for good measure, a clearly angered tabby cat yawling back at Bruno. This went on for what seemed like an eternity to me. I wanted very badly to be somewhere — anywhere — else.

To really stir things up, Colin said in his most proper accent, “Pardon me, is my dog in there chasing your (yes folks he said it again) “Pussycat?” This haggard looking individual came running to the door and screamed in an unmistakable British Accent, “Get your bloody blankity blank dog out my house!”

I turned and walked away as fast as my feet could carry me. In the distance, I still could hear Colin calling out to Bruno as he did laps around the poor chap's living room chasing that orange tabby cat.

It's funny how a Char Pei in a veterinarian's office can evoke such a memory. That's it for this week.

Next week we'll have an entry in the “best critter tale” contest. Send them to me at info@rosswoodkennels.com or write to me at Keith Ross, Richville MN 56576. Or call me AT 218-495-2195.

Keith Alan Ross writes from his home in New York Mills.