Dogs have personalities, just like people. And like people, their looks can be deceiving. Take Catfish for example. His fancy smancy pedigreed name is, Ashwind Cedarbrook Gone Fishin'. He is arguably one of the most beautiful English Cockers ever to be bred in the United States.
The minute he was old enough to be shown, he won every AKC competition in which he was entered, trouncing the competition. In fact, we were smuggly under the impression that we were the proud parents of the "Ricky Nelson" of the dog world. Catfish was the quintessential celebrity at dog shows. Judges and spectators fawned over him. Judges outside his breed catagory and class asked to inspect him, spectators asked to pet him. He bore it all with grace and dignity. He invariably came home with a fist full of ribbons. Once home, celebrity status was a non-starter, and he reverted to being Mommie's little man complete with his required 'chores' like, playing in mud puddles, helping Daddy and keeping the cats off of the porch.
As fate would have it, turns out he's really Jethro Bodine.
By the time he was a year old, Catfish had outgrown breed standards by something like two inches. He's just flat too big. Additionally, he's dumb as a box of rocks. But, he has, without a doubt, the sweetest disposition God ever granted a pup. He tolerates his obnoxious baby sister [Sadie the Tooth], patiently allowing her to steal his toys and grab his treats. He's sweet about going to bed at night and will stay in his puppy box uncomplaining for however long it is required. Poor old Catfish even tolerates having his dinner purloined...he simply ambles over to the other bowl and continues to eat. But, there is one thing my sweet natured, loving and patient boy will not tolerate and that's deer.
Because this place is on the side of a mountain and backs up to the National Forest we have an abundance of wildlife. Everything here is protected and safe....absolutely no hunting allowed. This policy has caused Catfish serious angst.
While he will hare off - pun intended - after the occasional rabbit [which he has no hope of catching] or bark at a turkey hen as she leads her chicks across the big hay field, by and large he's relatively unconcerned. Until the deer come out. For some reason, known only to him, Catfish has an absolute *thing* about deer.
For their part, the deer aren't much bothered. There's no way on God's green earth his little short legs and tubby little body can run fast enough to get within fifty yards of the youngest of fawns. So, they taunt him. They trot off just far enough for him to give up, then they amble right back to where they were grazing as soon as his back is turned.
As it happens, we have a pretty large herd of deer that call this place home. Just this past summer, two of "our" doe had twins. And, since none of the deer here have ever been threatened by a human, they come right up into the yard around the house. So close in fact, that they've been known to look in at the bathroom window....a bit disconcerting when you are still bleary and just out of bed.
One morning there were close to a dozen deer standing in some trees about twenty yards to the left of the front porch. My precious boy, ever vigilant, was on guard at the window. Suddenly he saw the deer - and promptly went berserk. Dennis opened the front door and Catfish flew. He flew the entire length of the porch without even pausing for his usual swan dive [The Swan Dive - that's another story] off the porch steps. Barking his head off, ears flapping, little legs going as fast as they would carry him........only, he went the wrong direction.
Instead of turning to the left, where the deer stood watching, Catfish turned and ran to the right. All - the - way - around - the - back - of - the - house.
The next thing we saw flash in front of us was:
deer.....deer......deer.........deer.......deer.......deer.....deer...deer...deer....deer...............................Catfish.
It looked like a giant spool of deer ribbon with one lone pup at the end. He chased them across the yard, over the hill, down the drive and almost out of sight. Running ever more slowly until finally coming to a full stop, too tired to go on.
The deer, not exactly in panic mode, had led him on a merry chase of perhaps a quarter of a mile. By which time, my poor little man, having done his duty as Protector Of The Universe, was worn out and on his way back to the porch to let us know that he had taken care of those despicable marauding cervidae.
What he didn't see, and we didn't have the heart to tell him, was following, not twenty yards behind him:
deer.......deer..........deer.........deer.........deer............deer.........deer...........deer........deer.............deer
It will come as no suprise to me if Catfish winds up needing therapy.
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