Pets in Phoenix

At one time during our Phoenix sojourn, we had three dogs. This was not intentional on my part. Our son came home with a small, buff colored, mixed hound dog puppy. The puppy was just long enough in the body to suspect some dachshund in the parentage. He promptly named him Charles A. Little Dog. That was shortened to Charles A. when calling him. Our daughter had Falina, a little sheltie-like Collie dog. Falina accepted this small addition to the household.

I looked out the kitchen window one morning and there was this huge, hulking buff colored beast of a dog. His head was lion sized and his body as large as a mastiff. He was playing with Charles A. How this huge beast had decided that Charles A. was his buddy was beyond me. We were already feeding two dogs and bearing the cost of veterinarian and license fees for two dogs. I could envision the feed bill for such a huge beast.

“Don’t you dare feed that animal.” I gave the order to my children and to my husband. I also sent the children around the neighborhood to see if anyone knew where the beast was from. This did take some time as our neighborhood consisted of one acre or more lots as some people were raising, breeding, and racing race horses.

Oh, that’s right. I didn't mention that we also had three horses. A huge part Tennessee Walker and Thorough Bred. That was Pecos and he stood seventeen and one-half hands high. Trixie was a quarter horse, and Black Jack was a mustang from the wild horse gatherings still allowed back in the early 1970’s. Let’s not discuss the feed bill, vet bill, and tack for those animals. My husband had built a barn which was actually his workshop, but we also stored hay bales in there. Yes, I could lift and stack them back then. Spare lumber was stacked at the side of the barn. The corral then branched off the back of the barn in both directions and to the back of our property.

The huge dog refused to leave our premises and he and Charles A. continued their games. I knew the beast was getting water as the water bowls for the dogs were outside. He could also stand high enough on his back legs and brace himself on the water tank for the horses. I was, however, becoming suspicious as to where he was acquiring his food.

I heard a crash from outside and looked out the kitchen window. There was the beast with a rat in his mouth shaking it and biting down. Pet rats escaped in Phoenix and were creating a warren underneath our stacked wood. The dog had jumped onto the stack or dislodged it to get at the rat. The score? One dead rat and I named the beast Brown and fed him. When everyone returned for dinner that night, I asked, “All right, which one of you has been feeding him?”

Naturally, all three members of the family were guilty. I should have known it would be a losing battle. I was right about one thing, our feed bill for livestock went higher.

Brown had other quirks besides the fondness for Charles A. He loved to use my 1968 Chevy Impala as his bed. He would jump up on the hood and stretch out. Even when it frosted, there he was in the morning when I came out for work. He was also good at climbing trees. Brown would join our son up in the apricot tree when the harvesting was going on. He loved to go camping with us. I’m not sure about the other two, but they went. On one trip Brown killed a squirrel. He was busy guarding and eating his kill while we were ready to leave.

My husband went to urge Brown to jump up in the back of the truck and Brown growled. Lanny took one look, shrugged his shoulders, and said, “Suit yourself,” and flipped up gate of the pickup. He then got into the truck with the rest of us (the rest being our daughter and me) as our son was in the back with Falina and Charles A. Lanny started the truck and we edged out far more slowly than normal. Brown looked up, looked down at the dead squirrel, jumped to his feet and ran before leaping and landing in the bed of the pickup.

“How did you know?” I had to ask.

“I figured he would. Charles A. was in the back of the pickup. It was either the squirrel or us.”

Lanny would usually exercise the horses by riding them across the desert, swing around up to Bell Road, and back again. Charles A. and Brown took to following him. For some reason Charles A. decided to test Bell Road. That was a bad decision. The cars were too fast and a small, beige dog the color of sand would not be noticed. We buried him close to the barn in the shade.

Brown hung around for about three days, a dejected, saddened creature. His friend was gone. One morning he was not there. He must have decided that Charles A. wasn't coming back. I really hope Brown found another friend before he too left this world.