by Pa Rock
Farmer
As I was driving down to Mountain Home, Arkansas, yesterday, in search of information on the most economical and/or best way to build a special gate, I happened to see a lady sitting at a homemade stand out by the highway with a sign that said "Puppies for Sale." Roadside stands are ubiquitous in the Ozarks, almost as common as yard sales.
I have been looking for a farm dog, something that will watch over the poultry and scare the bejezzus out of nocturnal predators, so I pulled in to see what the lady had to offer. There, in a large wire box, she had two of the smallest dogs that I had ever seen - Chihuahuas! Before I could leap back into my car and spray gravel all the way to the Arkansas line, she handed one to me, and the eight-week-old little girl commenced licking my face.
It was love at first sight, but I had the presence of mind and will power to tell her that I was heading into Mountain Home to do some shopping, and that if she was still there when I drove back through in a couple of hours, I might stop again.
But the fix was in. Two hours later as I was heading north, hoping against hope that she had sold them both during my absence, I came to the same intersection - and there she sat. She had sold one of the puppies - not the one who had licked my face - to a couple of women from Chicago. They had promptly named their new family member "Peanut," and had left for the Windy City. My puppy was still available, and she was so lonely because strangers had driven off with her sister.
And suddenly Pa Rock had a dog.
When we arrived back at the farm, all of the poultry rushed up to look at their new farm companion. I was worried that the bossy hens might give the little girl a rough way to go, but she pranced right up to them and the birds scattered like it was the first day of chicken season!
All of the advice that the roadside huckster gave me on care and feeding of the little girl proved to be wrong, and while she slept peacefully all through the night in her new home, she did not eat anything. Today we went to the vet that the lady had recommended. It just took a few minutes there to learn that the Chihuahua lady was not their most respected client - "But," the vet told me, "your puppy is very healthy." They gave puppy two shots and a bag of Science Diet dry dog food and a small can of Hills' Prescription Diet wet food. I mixed a little of each together when we got home, and she loves it!
Puppy weighed one pound and eleven ounces today at the vet's. She likes to ride in the cup holder of my car. She still has no name, but I am working on that. When the lady at the vet's office came into the lobby to take our information, I innocently asked, "What do you think of this bruiser?" She mistakenly thought that was the baby's name - and wrote it on her official veterinarian paperwork.
The ladies running the vet's office told me to call when I selected a permanent name, and said that they would then change it on their forms. Then they added a caution, "As long as it's not 'Angel' or 'Precious!" Those must be the 'Jacob' and 'Madison' of dog names!
But 'Bruiser' is beginning to grow on me. Now I'm thinking about 'Cujo' for a middle name. Either that or 'Sweet Pea!'
There's a lot of thoughtful reflection required in farming. It's not for dummies - or for people who are in a hurry!
Farmer
As I was driving down to Mountain Home, Arkansas, yesterday, in search of information on the most economical and/or best way to build a special gate, I happened to see a lady sitting at a homemade stand out by the highway with a sign that said "Puppies for Sale." Roadside stands are ubiquitous in the Ozarks, almost as common as yard sales.
I have been looking for a farm dog, something that will watch over the poultry and scare the bejezzus out of nocturnal predators, so I pulled in to see what the lady had to offer. There, in a large wire box, she had two of the smallest dogs that I had ever seen - Chihuahuas! Before I could leap back into my car and spray gravel all the way to the Arkansas line, she handed one to me, and the eight-week-old little girl commenced licking my face.
It was love at first sight, but I had the presence of mind and will power to tell her that I was heading into Mountain Home to do some shopping, and that if she was still there when I drove back through in a couple of hours, I might stop again.
But the fix was in. Two hours later as I was heading north, hoping against hope that she had sold them both during my absence, I came to the same intersection - and there she sat. She had sold one of the puppies - not the one who had licked my face - to a couple of women from Chicago. They had promptly named their new family member "Peanut," and had left for the Windy City. My puppy was still available, and she was so lonely because strangers had driven off with her sister.
And suddenly Pa Rock had a dog.
When we arrived back at the farm, all of the poultry rushed up to look at their new farm companion. I was worried that the bossy hens might give the little girl a rough way to go, but she pranced right up to them and the birds scattered like it was the first day of chicken season!
All of the advice that the roadside huckster gave me on care and feeding of the little girl proved to be wrong, and while she slept peacefully all through the night in her new home, she did not eat anything. Today we went to the vet that the lady had recommended. It just took a few minutes there to learn that the Chihuahua lady was not their most respected client - "But," the vet told me, "your puppy is very healthy." They gave puppy two shots and a bag of Science Diet dry dog food and a small can of Hills' Prescription Diet wet food. I mixed a little of each together when we got home, and she loves it!
Puppy weighed one pound and eleven ounces today at the vet's. She likes to ride in the cup holder of my car. She still has no name, but I am working on that. When the lady at the vet's office came into the lobby to take our information, I innocently asked, "What do you think of this bruiser?" She mistakenly thought that was the baby's name - and wrote it on her official veterinarian paperwork.
The ladies running the vet's office told me to call when I selected a permanent name, and said that they would then change it on their forms. Then they added a caution, "As long as it's not 'Angel' or 'Precious!" Those must be the 'Jacob' and 'Madison' of dog names!
But 'Bruiser' is beginning to grow on me. Now I'm thinking about 'Cujo' for a middle name. Either that or 'Sweet Pea!'
There's a lot of thoughtful reflection required in farming. It's not for dummies - or for people who are in a hurry!
1 comment:
In light of Monday's poem may I suggest you name your dog Mary Harris Jones, but you can call her Mother for short.
Post a Comment