Boomer: One of the Unwanted

By Lee Stuart

Lee Stuart learned from an early age to respect all creatures through his heritage as a Native American; he also learned what it was like to be an unwanted citizen in this country. Throughout his life, he demonstrated an uncanny knack for understanding and communicating with animals, particularly those that were unwanted. From Teddy the Bantam rooster to Sparky the pigeon, as well as a wide variety of other pets, Stuart loved them all deeply and fought to protect them from ill treatment.

 

The deep bond that developed between himself and the unwanted black Labrador retriever his daughter named Boomer confirms that there is much to the master/dog relationship, which is poignantly demonstrated when Boomer saves Stuart’s life in 1996

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Nov 29, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452074849

Lee Stuart

First-time author Lee Stuart pours his heart and soul into writing about the amazing bond he develops with his dog Boomer, who lived to be sixteen years old. From the very start of the book he demonstrates the unique ability to communicate with the animal world on different levels from chickens, pigeons, horses to man’s best friend-dogs. Stuart, a Native American from the Sappony tribe of the High Plains Indians in the North Carolina and Virginia area, shares some of their basic Native American beliefs and value system about God’s creatures. Flunking out of college in 1967, he was drafted into the Army, where he excelled and eventually became a career military officer traveling all over the world. He retired in 2002 and served as a military consultant in Iraq until December 2008. Upon his return back to the United States he felt compelled to once again help those who feel neglected, downtrodden, misunderstood and not listened to, thus he ran for an elected office and  is currently the Mayor of Stockbridge, Georgia.  

Book preview

© 2011 Lee Stuart. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse  08/10/2020

ISBN: 978-1-4520-7482-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4520-7483-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4520-7484-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2010913624

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Preface

T his is a story about a dog that no one wanted. His mother was a 70 pound Rottweiler and his father was a 135 pound black Labrador retriever. The owners of both of his parents did not want him so they gave him away to another man who was single and living in an apartment, where he left the puppy all day long while he worked. The puppy literally destroyed the man’s apartment, which resulted in him giving the dog away to a career military man.

The story will start with the childhood stories of Boomer’s owner growing up and his compassion for animals. He will share stories of other unwanted animals that have been in his life. When Boomer enters his master’s life he will take you through the trials and tribulations they encountered the next 16 years. Their stories will reconfirm the old adage of a dog being Man’s Best Friend. Their stories will make you laugh, cry, smile and shake your head in almost disbelief. The loyalty, love, respect, and compassion the dog has for his master is unquestionably demonstrated when Boomer saves his master’s life one night during an armed robbery in 1996.

Their stories of international travel and living in a foreign land Turkey for two years will once again make you laugh, cry, and rejoice. Their perseverance and love for each other are what keep them both focused during some very trying times. They both became great role models for the canine world, as well as Ambassadors for the United States of America.

They returned to the United States, once again becoming involved in their community, and Boomer continually tried to step in to protect his master and family from any harm. Boomer was selected as the official mascot of the Army Aviation Heritage Foundation in 2002. He was chosen as Animal Planet’s Top Dog of the Year for Atlanta in 2004, and he continued to be a role model for all to emulate by his actions and deeds. He lived to be sixteen years and three months old before he passed away. The love, loyalty, and respect for his master was once again demonstrated in Boomer’s final days, as he spared his master the pain of having him put to sleep.

Not only is this a tribute to Boomer, a incredibly fantastic dog that no one wanted, it is a story dedicated to give hope, strength and perseverance to all of those, whether they be mankind or animal, who feel down trodden, traumatized and unwanted.

Contents

Preface

The First Unwanted One

Sparky

Basics of Life

A New World

Growing Years

Boomer’s New Home

Running Partners

To the Farm

The Trials of Separation

Sandy, Mac and Ms. Jean

Canoe Trip

Barn/Bread

Birthday

The Shooting

The Recovery Process

Reconsideration

Shipping Out

First Days in Turkey

Moving to Guzelbache

First Days in Guzelbache

Brittany and Sonja

Lover’s Lane

Ramadan/Bayram

Boomer’s Mistress

Dive Master

Ozlem & Oguzhan

Two Litters

Boomer’s House

Major Changes

Operation Iraqi Freedom

Top Dog 2004

Islamorada

The Attack On Boomer

Native American Indian Management Organization

Final Years

Final Days

Rainbow Bridge

To Those I Love and Those Who Love Me

Acknowledgements

The First Unwanted One

A s a young Native American boy, I repeatedly witnessed people who were mistreated, disrespected and unwanted because of their race, creed, and color. Several family members were raped, murdered, and beaten by people of all other races because we were Native Americans. As Native Americans, we were not allowed to go to school with whites, blacks or other races until 1962. I saw many of my people treated worse than animals. The reason for this mistreatment and abuse was that we were unwanted.

Being unwanted was a concept that I could not understand. Our ancestors taught us three basic Native American fundamental values: 1-Respect for oneself and others; 2-Respect for the land, environment or Mother Nature, and 3-Respect for the Creator or Great Spirit. I was raised in a family of eight siblings with a multitude of uncles, aunts and cousins, but we all respected each other and always felt loved and wanted no matter where we went in our community. We learned very early on that The Circle of Life teaches us we are all children of the Earth, that we all share an equal place in the Circle, and that The Circle of Life is never-ending. So why was it hard for all other non-Native Americans to understand this concept? This is a question that has haunted me continually throughout my years as a young boy, soldier, and citizen and now into the silver years of my appointed time on earth.

Even though I knew I was loved and wanted within my tribe and family, I saw things within the animal world that I could not understand. As a child, my first encounter with the animal world was with chickens. We had more chickens around our house than I can remember. They were always hunting, pecking, and pooping all over the place. I followed them around for hours watching them scratch, cluck, peck, scratch, cluck, peck, looking for something to eat. One day Dad gave me the responsibility of taking care of the chickens. He explained that I needed to ensure they were let out, fed, watered and put up everyday. He also explained that I was to gather the eggs and to make sure no stray dogs or animals harmed them.

I was so proud of this responsibility that I would sit for hours on end watching over them like a shepherd boy as they scurried about doing their daily pecking, clucking, and scratching. Enthralled by it all, I eventually taught them to eat chicken feed out of my hand. I learned all of their mannerisms and mimicked their clucking sounds. I was so good at it that I could imitate the rooster calling his hens to come over and check out what he found for them to eat. I could mimic the hens calling their little baby peeps to come running over to them. I could imitate the roosters so well that they would get excited thinking I was another rooster challenging them that they would drop their wings down, go scooting across the ground and bump up against me like they wanted to fight me for challenging them.

It was a great experience for me as a mischievous young boy, plus it was an excellent way for Mom to know where I was if I wasn’t around the house fussing with my other siblings. With all of the chickens we owned, there were always some that were setting and hatching baby chicks. One of life’s lessons that I learned very quickly being The Guardian of the flock was that there was a pecking order of who ranked where within the flock of chickens. We raised several different types of chickens, but my favorite ones were the small Bantam ones. Being small for my age also caused me to favor the little Bantam ones. They had some of the most beautifully colored feathers and I loved the spunk of the old Bantam rooster. Even though he was the smallest of all of the roosters, he made the larger roosters run from him with just a feint in their direction. I loved his strength, respect, and courage to protect his harem of hens.

One evening as I was putting the chickens up, Dad came out to watch me. I could cluck and imitate the chickens so well that they ran to me when I called them; that’s how I always got them back into the coop every evening. I was so proud to show Dad how well my flock of chickens listened to me that I was intent on getting them all in very quickly. As I closed the door on the chicken coop, Dad told me to grab one of the bigger white chickens we had so he could look at him. I opened the door and went back in to get the one Dad told me to get. All of the chickens clucked and jumped around because I had snatched that one from amongst them. As I handed the chicken to Dad, he pointed to another chicken for me to grab. So I chased it around the chicken house when all of a sudden, all of the chickens went absolutely bonkers. They were bouncing up and down, flying all over the place. I was a little befuddled why they were acting like that because I had never seen them act like that before. After I finally grabbed the second chicken, I turned around to see the first chicken jumping up and down with its head cut off! I could not believe my eyes - there stood my Dad with a shovel in his hand that he had used to chop the head off the first chicken. I was so stunned that I couldn’t say anything, my mouth wide open and my eyes bulging out of my head. I could not believe this was happening.

Dad, being an old country boy himself just snarled at me and said, Boy, why are you looking at me that way? Do you think we are raising these chickens to be pets? Where do you think that chicken comes from we’ve been eating these past few years?

I was so shocked that I was in a trance-like mode as I handed Dad the second chicken. I was so honestly naïve and innocent about raising chickens as a source of food that the whole episode served to shut down my ability to talk about it for days.

A few days later Dad explained which chickens were raised for food and which ones were for laying eggs. He told me if I wanted to raise a pet, it needed to be one of the little Bantam chickens, because they were so small and they didn’t have much meat on them.

A couple of months later while tending to my flock of chickens, I noted that the other chicks always picked on one particular little chick. At first, I thought it was just their playfulness, but after a few days of very close observation, I noted that all of the chicks, hens, and the rooster picked on this one individual chick for no apparent reason. The little chick was chased around no matter what he did. Beings how I was the official Guardian of the Flock, I shooed the others away from him. Soon he began staying next to me like I was his mother hen. He really had the best position in the flock now because he sat on my hand and ate until his craw was full; and then he crawled up and down my arms and legs. I put him up on my shoulder and head and handled him like a baseball glove. No matter what position I put him in, he clambered to stay on me.

In just a matter of a few days, we bonded as best friends and I named him Teddy. The other chickens were all so jealous of him that they always tried to get at him and pick on him. In the evenings when I put them back in the chicken house, Teddy always lingered back as the last one. They all settled in for the evening and on the roost before Teddy would try to find himself a spot to sleep in, which normally was the lowest rung of the roost. For some strange reason, when the chickens finally roosted for the evening, they all had their own self-imposed sleeping order of who slept where. One of the things I quickly learned was they left Teddy alone once they all were in order; that’s when I was sure they would not pick on him anymore. When I let them out in the mornings, they would all be bunched up against the wire cage, strutting back and forth, anxiously waiting for me to open the gate so they could start their foraging for the day. Teddy normally was the most excited of them all to see me because he knew I would protect him for the rest of the day.

One morning when I went down to let them all out, I noticed Teddy wasn’t amongst them. When I opened the door and they all took off running, I went in to the chicken house and I found Teddy battered, beaten, and bleeding from his head. I was horrified, so I gathered him up and took him into to show Dad.

Dad helped me clean him up and tried to explain the law of nature that the chickens live by. Son, it’s only natural for them to cull out those chickens that, for whatever reason, they don’t like or that are small and weak. They’ll pick at ‘em and peck at ‘em until the weak one dies. That’s just their way.

I could not accept this type of treatment towards Teddy so I became even more determined to protect him on a full time basis. That evening when I put all of the chickens up in the chicken house, I kept Teddy out and took him to my bedroom. During the day, I had made an easel for Teddy to roost on and I put newspapers on the floor beneath him because I knew he’d poop during the night, which would be Mom’s number one objection to me keeping Teddy in the house.

That evening when Mom and Dad came to my bedroom to check on me, they were shocked to see Teddy at the end of my bed on the easel I had made for him. Mom never was much of a fan for pets; with eight kids around, she had enough to keep up with and didn’t need anymore unnecessary house cleaning chores to do.

But, Mom, I implored, the other chickens are so unfair to Teddy. They only pick on him because he’s small. I just can’t let them to do that anymore, I explained earnestly. I promise I will take good care of Teddy all the time. I will clean up all his messes. I promise!

After much persuasion, they finally agreed and Teddy became my best friend.

It was only a matter of a few days until Teddy realized he was a rooster and that it was his job to start crowing early in the mornings before the sun came up. Mom was okay with the roosters down in the chicken coop crowing, but she was not to keen on being woken up in the house with a rooster crowing. I tried every thing I could think of to stop him from crowing. I even tried getting him to sleep under the covers with me to muffle his crowing, but Teddy had that genetic calling and he was determined to let it rip no matter how hard I tried to stop him. I finally had to relent to Mom’s wishes, so we compromised and Dad helped me build a chicken roost for Teddy right outside my bedroom window. The funny part was he could also see in the other windows of the house and if anyone got up in the middle of the night to go the bathroom and turned on the light, Teddy crowed, thinking it was daylight and time to get up.

Mom and Dad taught us kids that we had to work hard to achieve the good things in life. I wanted a red Schwinn bicycle with butterfly handlebars so badly that I would do anything to get one. Mom and Dad didn’t really have the money to buy me one, so I got a newspaper route to earn the money to pay for it. It was kind of a Catch-22, because without a bike I wouldn’t be able to have a newspaper route; so Dad took me down to the bicycle shop and I agreed to pay the shop owner $2.50 every month for one year until the bike was paid for. I was so excited about it that I was determined to show everyone that I was able pay for the bike myself.

The newspaper route I was given was an early morning delivery route. We had to be at the newspaper station drop off point by five-thirty every morning. Teddy and I were so closely bonded that he soon realized I was getting up so early every morning to deliver papers that during the course of the night, he got down off his roost and sat on my handlebars when I came out to go deliver my route. I took him off the handlebars and put him on my shoulder; there he sat, clucking away, as I rode through my paper route. When the sun came up, Teddy crowed throughout the entire route as I rode throughout the neighborhood. I tried to keep him quiet, which normally would only cause him to crow again more quickly. My paper route customers soon gave me the nickname of Rooster Boy instead of Paper Boy.

Teddy and I enjoyed more time together than most people do with any of their pets. Teddy never went back in the chicken house with the other chickens. When I walked with him out to feed or water the other chickens, he stuck right next to me and sometimes lunged at the other chickens if they tried to get close to me. It was ironic that earlier in his life the other chickens didn’t want him around and they tried to kill him. Now they all wanted to be around him to enjoy the benefits he now received for being the Unwanted One. A few years later I woke up early one morning to find Teddy still on his roost and barely able to open his eyes. I woke up Dad and asked him to look at Teddy to see what was wrong. Dad explained to me that Teddy was old and had enjoyed an exceptionally good life as a chicken being my pet rooster. He said he thought it would only be a matter of time before Teddy would pass away.

Sure enough, a few days later, as I was leaving for school, I found Teddy stiff with his eyes wide open. He passed away in my paper route canvas carrying bags that were wrapped around the handlebars of my bike. I got a shoebox for him and wrapped his body in some cloth material. Dad offered to give Teddy a proper burial while I went on to school. It was one of the saddest days of my young life. I cried all the way to school as I rode my bike down the road. It felt so lonely to ride down the road without my biking companion Teddy. When I returned home from school, I knelt by the grave that Dad dug for Teddy, and I told him that even though he was unwanted by his own, I always wanted him and that my love for him would never die. This was the beginning of my self-imposed calling to always be the one who would reach out to help those who were less fortunate, weak, beaten, and sick, down trodden or unwanted.

Sparky

B eing one of eight siblings, I never had the opportunity to call any of our collection of animals my own personal animal, other than Teddy the pet rooster. We were taught to share with each other, so throughout the years, we had about every kind of small animal a family could collect. We had rabbits, chickens, skunks, dogs, cats, hamsters, parakeets, lizards, ants, frogs, pigeons, and any injured or helpless animal within a five-mile radius of our home. The one rule that Mom strictly enforced was that no matter what kind of pets we chose, we were only allowed to have one of them, there was no compromising - other than the chickens because they were being used to put food on the table! Mom knew darn good and well what kind of zoo we would have if all eight of us were allowed to have our own individual animals.

We once had a rabbit named Puffy; he was a big ole buck rabbit that ran freely throughout the house. He not only ate rabbit food, but he would also eat anything we would offer him. His favorite food was ice cream. He grew to be one of the biggest rabbits anyone ever saw. When we went down to the local corner grocery store to get something for Mom, Puffy would follow along with us just like a dog. The grocery store manager always got mad at us and told us not bring the rabbit in the store because Puffy always headed straight to the produce section and to gnaw on a head of cabbage. He weighed about 27 pounds and was as big as a dog. He was house broken, and he’d go over to the door and thump against the door with his hind legs to let us know he needed to go outside. When we took him outside, he was always on the look out for any predators in the area.