My Four Legged Friends
By Bob Boaz
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About this ebook
I’m a sixty year old man who has spent most of my life with animals. Within this book, I describe my display of affection for my friends in my own way. I do not recommend anyone following my example for anything I describe doing in this book. Each person must make his or her won decision on how to treat their friend. The reason for the book is to show the reader just what is possible to achieve with your new friend. It’s the same things that we as humans look for – love, respect, and understanding are most important; adopt a pet and make it a friend.
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My Four Legged Friends - Bob Boaz
My Four Legged Friends
Bob Boaz
Copyright © 2017 Bob Boaz
All rights reserved
First Edition
PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.
New York, NY
First originally published by Page Publishing, Inc. 2017
ISBN 978-1-64027-210-1 (Paperback)
ISBN 978-1-64027-209-5 (Digital)
Printed in the United States of America
Velvet
This book is dedicated to my longest living four-legged friend, Velvet. She spent sixteen years with me. We did everything together, and her love will never ever be forgotten. The dedication photo is my favorite and shows the true spirit of this four-legged friend.
My thanks go to
Connie Sadler
for her friendship and editing.
And thanks also to Steve Moss for
his friendship and assistance.
Thank you so much to the caring
authors of the three wonderful poems
referenced in this book.
Introduction
I sit here approaching the loss of a perfect friend. People who have pets and have made that step from dog, cat, or other pet to friend will understand these stories.
The following stories are about five four-legged friends I’ve had and the way they’ve touched my life, two in particular. I bonded with these friends and they bonded with me. I showed my friends the same devotion and respect that they showed to me—unfailing.
My friends
had a bed, and they either slept with me or wherever they felt comfortable and safe. If my friends felt safe (their natural senses are far greater than mine), why shouldn’t I feel safe? I’ve staked my life on my friends’ love, respect, and keen instincts many times and have never lost. I have had a friend jump in front of a bear more than once to defend me and actually saved my life. When you have that kind of devotion from a four-legged friend, you have the best protection service going, next to maybe a handgun! Personally, I’d let this type of protection lie next to me anytime!
Here is the story of my five friends. All had a special time and place in my life and in my heart. Each had his or her own personality and attitude.
Please understand that my book expresses my views and only my views on the treatment and training of your pet. I wouldn’t recommend some of the things I do if you have any fear of your pet or fear of disease. My only hope in writing this book is that people will take a different look at their pet. You will find, as I have, that they are much more than an animal. They can be the best and closest friend you have.
Duke
Duke was a hunter. I was moving to Idaho and a friend had a German Shorthaired Pointer that was fully trained. Duke’s problem, according to my friend, was that he was just too big to be a show dog. That meant that Duke was perfect for me. I wasn’t interested in a show dog—I just needed a friend and a hunter. So it was off to McCall, Idaho, and hopefully lots of hunting.
We arrived in McCall during the winter of 1975—not much fun for a German Shorthaired Pointer. Duke had no problem playing in the snow; the problem started when he stopped. He would get the shivers, and his whole body would tremble. He loved it when I’d warm him up by wrapping him in a huge towel and rubbing him all over until the shivering stopped. That huge tongue of his would come out, and I would get these big licks on my face. Then it was off to the couch, where he would turn around and around into a tight circle until he found just the right moment to plop down and settle in.
Duke wasn’t a dog to hang close to me. He would wander here and there, never taking his nose from the ground. But you hit that training whistle, and he comes to a halt, ears up, looking right at you. Another whistle, and he was on his way back. Around me and up to my side and sitting—he would come to a rest. When he was done sitting, he would lean on my legs just to let me know he was there.
Duke’s size brought with it a wonderful attitude that I liked. He had no problem letting other dogs know when he had had enough of their nose. Duke wasn’t big on the dog coming back for a second smell. That’s when the size of his mouth came into play. He never looked for a fight—he just let other animals know not to push it.
My friend loved to ride in the truck. He sat up in the seat looking like a human passenger. And being my friend, he seldom let me out of his sight. Duke didn’t like the bed; he was a floor and door guy. If the door to the bedroom was open, he was in the center of the door. If the door was shut, he would have to move so you could open it. He loved life and had no problem being friends with people or other animals.
Winter is pheasant hunting time. I made a friend who lived in Weser, Idaho. Pheasants and chuckers were everywhere there, and I was invited down to the opening of pheasant season. For the first time, I was going to watch Duke go through his paces and watch him hunt.
On the drive down, he knew something was up. He was alone with Dad, and we were going somewhere fun—he just knew it. He was all over the front seat. Because of his size, he’d stick his head way out the window, his big old ears and lips flapping in the wind, saliva flying from his mouth. He was a character to watch.
Just outside of Weser, I turned down this long driveway to my new friend’s ranch. Duke was almost out of control in the cab of the pickup. If I had a passenger, we’d all sit in the front seat. Of course the window was his seat. I came to a stop and got out to talk to my friends. I thought Duke was going to come through the rolled-up window. He was very upset about being left out of our conversation, and for the first time, I heard it—that sound coming from his throat! The howl was something I had never heard before.
He’d gotten our attention now! We headed toward the truck to free the poor guy. My friend had no dogs, but he did have birds. I opened the door to the cab, and I couldn’t believe the long leap from the door to the ground. Most of the time when Duke would get out of the truck, he had to check the air, the landing spot, and then step down gingerly to the ground. The second he hit the ground, that nose of his went to work.
We grabbed our guns and shells and turned to head out, but where was Duke? The next second, around the corner of the barn came my friend, his mouth open and a dripping tongue hanging to one side. His ears were just flopping wildly, banging against his neck as he ran toward us.
He circled me once and ended up next to me, leaning on my left leg. I looked down, and his eyes were wild as if to say, Let’s go, Dad! I’m ready!
I’d never seen him so excited. I was very proud of him, and just to show off a little, I turned and said, Stay.
You could hear that short stubby tail beating up the ground where he sat.
As I walked away, I thought about turning the corner and walking out of his sight, but nope, I just couldn’t do it. I turned and looked at him; his nose was pointing straight up in the air, probably the only time we’d see that, and little noises were coming out of his throat. I loved my guy, and tears of pride welled up in my eyes at just that thought; it was overwhelming.
I turned back around, slapped my side, and began walking. He was next to me in an instant, matching me stride for stride. A few hundred yards out, and we were at the gate to the cornfields. The corn was cut down to the ground with brush in the center of the rows. Duke was still at my side but farther away from me. I don’t think he wanted to knock me down when I said, Go!
What a trip!
We turned to start down the first row. I stopped, looked at Duke, and said, Go!
He made darned sure he was going to be out in front