Jimmy W, you made me just about pee my pants. How that brought back memories of my own Irish. Puddle Rat, mine was a “rescue”, from the side of the road.
Back in the early 70’s (notice maybe a pattern there?) my folks were on their way home from Kingston, NY. (We live up in the Northern Catskills,I was about 13) they noticed a small pup running in and out of RT 28 near Bellayre Ski Center. Well, dear old Mom had those motherly instincts and insisted that my Dad stop and get that puppy out of the road before it got hit. They picked up a 7-8 week old Irish Setter pup and went to all the houses within eyesight to see whose dog it was. No one claimed it. When they got home , with the pup, I saw it and fell for him immediately. He had that sort of cross eyed Doofus look about him. Of course we all thought he was cute and he was pretty placid at the time. Must have been the shock of starving and running wild.
Anyway, life in our household would soon change forever. Probably if I listened real closely I could have heard the Jaws theme song in the back ground. Within a day he was up and running, figuratively and literally. We named him Sundance after the Sundance Kid (that flick was pretty popular in those days. Who knew how prophetic that choice of monikers would be. An outlaw and thief he was to become. We also had a middle aged cocker spaniel that ruled the roast. She was the big dog!!!
Sundance grew, and grew, and grew some more. The whole time we were trying to figure out who would dump a pure bred Irish Setter on the side of the road. Our eventual conclusion was that they knew exactly what they were doing. He was the forerunner of what is known today as a Weapon of Mass Destruction.
Unfortunately for me, visions of hunting partridge with him were shattered when we had our first thunderstorm. Bezerk cant describe his behavior. He about chewed through the walls of the house to get inside. He was a house dog but he was out and about when the storm hit. Gun-shy and any noise shy.
Chew? He never met a knife, scarf, glove, shoe, boot, chair, door, that he didn’t like. No, we didn’t leave these laying around. He would stand up on his hind legs and help himself. At thanksgiving he stole the turkey off the counter in the kitchen and three pies. Told my mother it served her right. She was not impressed. He became known as “that damn dog”. Of course her little cocker could do no wrong. My dad and I thought the Cocker was always putting him up to this stuff to get rid of him.
One of his favorite pastimes was killing woodchucks and not eating them right away. He let them age to perfection for a couple of weeks, let the maggots grow and the meat age and then he would ceremoniously drag them on the lawn by the side door we usually used so we could see his prize whenever we passed. Then he would consume these delicacies when he wasn’t rolling on it. Of course the noxious odors he emitted later on in the house would empty a room in a heartbeat. His next favorite pastime was waiting till our neighboring farmer came down to our meadows to spread cow flop and he would literally follow the spreader and roll in the fresh meadow dressing. Of course the Cocker would sometimes follow him and my mom always blamed him as being a bad influence.
He put his head through a window to get at another dog, he destroyed an unbreakable doggie door. He would steal groceries that my mother left on the walkway next to the car as when she came home from shopping and emptied the car. It was always a mystery when she would be in the kitchen unpacking her purchases and would wonder where the box of pastries, pounds of butter, bread, meat went that she knew she just bought. A quick trip out to the yard would usually find “him” sprawled out with half a steak in his mouth or a butter package or box emptied and him nowhere to be seen. He could swallow a roast whole. He could eat a pie before you could blink.
I watched one time when he was about 4 months old, he did something wrong or something that my mother didn’t like. We were in the den watching TV, My dad, my mother and I. She called Sundance over and he walked over and sat down near her about 6 feet frr the wall. She proceeded to scold him, wagging her finger at him. He sat and stared at her. My dad and I were opposite my mom so we only saw him from behind. Next thing we see, emanating obviously form him , is this yellow stream shoot up , right next to my mother, onto the wall about 6 feet high and then it ran down the wall. My mother was aghast, she was speechless. We fell out of our chairs we were laughing so hard.
Of course my dad and I would laugh and watch my Mom go ballistic. WE thought he was great fun when he wasn’t damaging anything. He was also very big and very fast. Huge deep chest, big squared headed son of a gun, long read hair. Not that slender narrow brainless look like most of them. On his hind legs he stood over 5’ 6” tall and after he was finally neutered (A fruitless attempt to get him to calm down) he weighed in at a about 120 lbs. He was very fast. In his prime he would run next to my Rambler 550 Classic at 35 MPH by the speedometer.
But, as far as a friend, a family dog that would never hurt a fly, he was it. Loyal as can be. Entertaining as hell. I wont blame any training deficiencies for his behavior. He was just not the sharpest tack in the box. But a hell of a dog nonetheless. Wish he would have hunted, he had a great nose but was scared to death of any loud noise. Our conclusion was that whoever had him knew enough about dogs that they decided instead of putting him down they would drop him and some unsuspecting fool would feel sorry for him and give him a decent home. Why else would he have been lost ? And in the end he unquestionably confirmed that no good deed ever goes unpunished!!!
Last edited by Brian; 02/16/09 07:47 AM.
