PUPS IN WINTER

As we move closer to the Winter Solstice, I refl ect on winters past and my canine friends that made those journeys with me. There were three, in particular, that I remember best; Super Dog who traveled the chilly road with me for 18 years; Cara for 14 years and Patrick, Cara’s son, for 14 years. The three of them lived with me for a total of 38 winters. Super Dog arrived at his new home with us, curled up in my little girl’s arms when she was eight years old and he was just four weeks old. He looked like a wind-up toy. His coat was long and red with black guard hairs on his upright ears and a face like a little fox. He had the demeanor of a Rottweiler. His lineage was iff y, at best, coming from the Piney Woods of East Texas where those little dogs originated with great noses, excellent eyesight, phenomenal hearing, and circus dog agility. They were used as squirrel hunting dogs, and they came in all colors P u p s i n W i n t e r

P R I N C E S S & P A T Princess is the Ecuadorian street-dog who accompanied Pat back to Texas on her last return home. Princess currently lives in Denton with Kim and her menagerie.

TIPPY Tippy lived too brief a life out on Highway 90. No little girl ever loved a Collie dog more. He’s burried under a big old oak tree in the pasture there and if you watch close, you can still see the irises Patsy Berry planted on his grave there.

and shapes but were usually small dogs with adult weights of 12 to 15 pounds. It was not unusual for every puppy in a litter to have different daddy. As Super Dog matured, people would ask his breed. I always said he was a “Purebred Madison County Mousehound.” Right after his arrival I took him to Dr. Buddy Molt, DVM, our very good friend and veterinarian. Dr. Molt’s wife was in the lobby with her German Shepherd. I set my five-inch-long, four-inch-tall dog down on the floor, and he started growling and charged the German Shepherd. The big dog’s eyes opened very wide; his ears fell flat on his head; he yelped and hid behind his mistress. The first words out of my mouth were “Super Dog!!” That became my little lion-hearted friend’s name and he lived up to it for the next 18 years. When Super Dog was about 2½ years old, he, my little girl and I moved from Houston, Texas, to a ranch just outside of Cheyenne, Wyoming. This was his first encounter with snow. His red coat grew into a luxurious coif that made him look like a little lion. He sure had the personality for it. Often as we drove up the road to the ranch house, he jumped PAT & CARA

The Metal Concepts years were guarded by Cara and then Patrick, her son. Here Cara helps in the office in 1990.

SUPERDOG Superdog stuck around for 18 years... He was a fierce guard dog, and absolutely devoted to Pat and Jack. He traveled from Houston to Wyoming and back again, living his sunset years on the Hill on Highway 21 In Madisonville.

out on the packed snow and ran alongside of the car with a yearling Quarter Horse filly we had that liked to chase cars. He could run 30 mph for a hundred yards or so. During most winter mornings, we would load the old ranch pickup with hay and range cubes to feed the cattle, and while we did that, Super Dog busied himself killing the mice that scurried out from under the hay. He left the bodies for the retarded cat that sat on top of the haystacks. He then jumped in the truck ready to handle the next chore and off we went across the snow-covered pastures. When we got to the cattle, I’d shift the truck into low gear and get out of the cab, climb in the back, and put out hay and cubes as the truck crept across the glistening white plains. There were few trees, fewer rocks, and almost no ravines—nothing to hit. Those plains had once been covered with herds of buffalo and crossed by Conestoga wagons taking pioneers west. It seemed that they went on forever. Super Dog refused to stay in the bed of truck, and he’d jump down to the ground to bark at the cattle. They charged him and he ran under the tailgate, and since I was afraid he would get run over, I left him him in the cab of the pickup. One day, the truck started making uncharacteristic lazy zigzags across the pasture. That’s when I noticed Soupy through the back window. There he stood on his hind legs, eyes straight ahead carefully watching the terrain with his front paws on the steering wheel as he steered the pickup, first right and then left. From then on, he became my regular driver and made daily winter feeding much easier. Super Dog lived with us for another 15 years. He was one of the most intelligent, bravest little animals I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. He took all his jobs very seriously and did them well. After Super Dog went to heaven in the spring of 1986, it was another year and a half before we were able to think about having another dog friend. His was a very big collar to fill, but just before Christmas in 1988, Jack Cole and I looked at each other and decided it was time to find Soupy’s successor. That very day we found a highly recommended, local breeder of, what were called “apartment–sized” Cocker Spaniels. We requested a champion-bred, beautifully-conformed female with an attitude. The breeder had just the pup, an eight-week-old red female, with a real “in your face” attitude, and we went straight out to the kennel to meet her. As soon as we entered the puppy nursery, a gorgeous little red girl with a freckled nose flew across the floor, her long ears flapping behind her. She leaped into my arms, pressed her little face against my chest and gave me the biggest puppy hug, I’d ever had. It was all over for me. I never even looked at the other puppies. She had already been named “Terror” due to her antics and alpha dog attitude. We changed her name to “Cara” a name that had much the same sound as Terror but sweeter. She was a real character and took over the house right away. As we had a two-story house, we wove red and green ribbon through the banisters to keep Cara from falling through. It looked a lot like an Italian Pizza Parlor. From the beginning of her regime, she was spoiled rotten and went to the office with us every day. When she was about a year old, Cara developed epilepsy. It was a genetic disorder that probably would be passed on to any puppies she had. Still, when she was three, we decided to take a chance and raise one litter of puppies. She was bred to a very handsome male from very royal lineage and on St. Patrick’s Day, she had a litter of seven puppies, we lost four but had 3 beautiful male puppies; 2 blondes and one dark red. A tragic accident took the life of the red one and left two. The largest boy went to live with my sister and the runt of the litter, Patrick, stayed with us. He was small and gorgeous. He had ears so long that he constantly stepped on them and did somersaults. He weighed about 25 pounds fully grown. Cara went to Heaven when she was 14 years old and Patrick was eight. Patrick had been so attached to his mom that there was a very real chance that he would pine away for her. Instead, he became my Velcro dog. He took every step I took. Within a year of Cara’s death, I moved aboard my 36’ catamaran sailboat with Patrick and his best animal buddy, a bob-tailed cat named Dudley Do Wrong. Patrick was afraid of water and had never been swimming. He had swimming lessons every day for several weeks in the Bahamas, but he still didn’t like the water. He spent most of his time on board curled up at my feet when I was at the helm. During the 2002 Olympics in Utah, the guys and I went to spend time with my brother who lived near Park City, Utah. It was their first plane ride and the first time they had seen snow. Duds decided he would watch the snow from inside, but Patters bounced out every time I went out. Most days I would put on snowshoes and he and I walked up and down the snow-covered mountain with sun sparkles that looked as if a giant hand had scattered millions of diamonds. On one of those glorious days with snow 12 to 18 inches deep, Patrick and I were out with me on my snow shoes. After close to an hour, I decided it was time to go inside. Icicles were hanging in Patrick’s long, curly locks, but I couldn’t pick my foot up. I heard my brother laugh from his second story balcony. When I looked up, he was laughing so hard he couldn’t speak. He could only point. I looked behind me to where he was pointing, and on my entangled snowshoe sat a smiling cocker spaniel. His undercarriage had gotten too cold to go on, so he decided to hitch a ride. That ended our days of snowshoeing together, as the minute I put the snowshoes on, Patrick hopped on behind me and nailed my foot to the ground.