Jefferson Weaver
William stopped in the center of the lane, jowls flopping, long red ears slapping against his head as he had a good scratch.
The redbone loved the cooler mornings, because the smells were more intense without the summer humidity. Plus, Lucy and Jack, those irritating puppies, slept later when it was cooler. Walter the Wonder Dog had long since turned over Dawn Patrol to William.
For a few minutes, the world was his – except for the parts claimed by the Cobrachickens and Melanie the donkey. He nervously glanced toward the goat pen – yep, the geese were busy stealing food from the goats. Melanie never bothered him unless he broke the rules, and she looked content. He was safe for the moment.
William breathed in the scents of the morning. A coyote had passed down the lane in the night, likely following two – no, three deer. One of the tomcats was being a tomcat. A possum had come up to raid the cats. The tractor across the way was belching diesel fuel.
William’s big nose picked up the smell of blooming fennel, acorns, swamp water, rabbits and all the things that make life good.
Off in the distance, William heard a hound bay, and immediately his ears perked.
“Is it that time already?” the redbone said to himself, and began jogging up the lane toward the front pasture, hips swinging to the beat of his own music, ears flapping gently from side to side.
Three Walker hounds – two tri-color and one lemon spotted six-month-old – were snuffling along the fenceline. The four dogs froze and stared at each other. William was about to roar a challenge to the trespassers when he recognized them, about the same time they realized it was their old friend.
“Bill!” the leader, an old gyp named Susie, barked happily. “Happy Deer Season!”
“And happy first day to you!” William bayed in return. “You guys doing good?”
“We’re just passing through, honestly,” the youngest dog, Little Sam, said. “We won’t be any trouble.” William wagged his tail.
“I know it. My humans don’t worry about dogs. ‘Dogs can’t read no trespassing signs,’ they always say.”
The four dogs laughed uproariously.
“Can’t read — riiiiiiight,” Moonlight snickered. “Still, I’m not one for trespassing. It’s not polite, and it can be dangerous.”
“We were passing through after that dang uneven eight pointer,” Gyp said. “Third year I’ve trailed him. That cockeyed buck is smart. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” William said. “Drives me crazy the way that buck runs down the lane. Rolled me over when I had a coon treed one day. I haven’t smelled him today, though. One of these days, my human is going to bust a cap on him, and it will be a wonderful week of guts and bones.” William closed his eyes dreamily and licked his lips.
“Then my female human will get tired of cooking venison, and we’ll have steaks, roasts, ribs…man, I’m getting hungry. Don’t you guys want to come by for breakfast? I know my humans won’t mind.”
“I’d love to, but we have to work,” Moonlight said sadly. “Our humans feed us supper, and we get the scraps, too. If it weren’t for hunting season, I’d be a fat, nervous wreck.”
“Speaking of which,” Susie teased,” you’re putting on a few pounds there, Big Bill. Civilian life must agree with you.”
William nodded, a little ashamed.
“Yep. A lot of the time, all I do any more is run the trails in the morning, then have breakfast. Then I’ll take a nap. My female human gives us treats at lunch time sometimes. Then I’ll take a another nap, maybe watch some TV. When my other human gets home, I have to bark and welcome him home. Then I’ll nap some more. Then maybe I’ll make another round of the farm, eat some scraps and go to bed.
“I really need to get out and work some, but my human can’t coon hunt until he gets an operation. He can’t keep up with me. So we sit around and eat.”
“I feel sorry for you,” Susie said. “I’d be a mess if I couldn’t run six months of the year. And I’d be worried to death about my figure, eating that much.”
“Mr. William,” Little Sam said, “May I ask a question?”
“Shoot,” William said, scratching at an ear. Pesky durn flea was driving him batty.
“Do you really sleep on the human’s bed?”
“Yes indeed,” William said, finally scratching away the itch. “Sometimes I sleep on a soft chair instead. When it’s cold, our female human spreads blankets on the floor for us in front of a heater. If we’re sick, she’ll even wrap us in a blanket! It’s a good gig.”
“Do your humans do this a lot?” Moonlight asked. “A couple days in front of a heater, with a blanket and good food, might be just the ticket for my hips.”
“You’d always be welcome,” William said. “You just have to watch out for the Cobrachickens, and some of the cat can be rude. And if your humans show up, you have to go.”
“How long has this been going on?” Little Sam asked.
“They have done this for years,” William said. “They don’t make dogs stay, but if you turn up looking hungry or hurt, they’ll feed you and spoil you rotten until they find your humans.” William laughed, then sneezed.
“It was before my time, but they had one deer dog who used to come visit every weekend, rather than going hunting. His owner would pick him up after church on Sunday, and he’d be back the next week. My humans are pretty generous that way.”
“I’ve heard some stories,” Little Sam said, “and I just wanted to ask. I wasn’t trying to be rude.”
“I don’t know how you can live around all those cats, ducks, chickens and geese,” Susie said, shaking her head. “I mean, you can avoid the horses and goats – but the temptation to chase them must be so powerful.”
“It can be – until the Cobrachickens nail you once or twice, then the donkey gets upset, and stuff gets real, really quickly,” William said. “You do not want to make the female human angry. Trust me on this.”
“I hate to break this up,” Moonlight said, “but we really need to get back to work. It’s always good to see you, Bill.”
“Likewise,” William said, “and remember – if you ever want to pretend you’re lost, come hang out at my place for a few days. The humans won’t mind – just beware of the Cobrachickens.”
