Reply
Tue 28 Feb, 2006 07:31 pm
About once a month I get together with a half dozen of my buddies for stimulating game of poker, spirited conversation, and beer drinking. I was on the way to the game last night and as I drove around a hairpin turn that led to a bridge crossing the lake I was startled to see a rather larger coyote in the middle of the road with something substantial in his mouth.
I slammed the brakes on and my headlights illuminated the beast perfectly. I could now see that the object in his mouth, quite limp, was a miniature daschund. The coyote's muscles tensed and I could tell he was weighing his options in those millisceconds as to which direction he should take flight and as to whether or not he should drop his recently acquired meal.
He quickly came to the determination that since the rumbling machine with the powerful lights was no longer bearing down upon him he could make his exit in a more dignified fashion and he lazily loped off the road, daschund still in tow, ducked under a split rail fence, and vanished silently into the thick weeds and darkness beyond.
I was a bit shaken by the incident; the whole thing had happened in less than 10 seconds, and I found myself still sitting on the road, staring at the spot where the coyote had disappeared when a honking noise behind me alerted me to the presence of an angry driver whose progress I was impeding.
I waved a little gesture out the side window indicating my apolgies and continued on to the poker game.
I walked into the house and noticed I was last as usual. All the guys were sitting around the kitchen, drinking beers and waiting for my arrival. The usual salutations were showered upon me: "Hey, Gus, what's happening?" "Howdy, Gus!" "Hey, old- timer, it's 'bout time you dragged your sorry old bones out of bed."
I acknowledged them all in turn while at the same time observing Jim, a normally jocular fellow who was now sitting at the table with a rather morose look on his face. He was idly shuffling the cards but his mind was obviously a thousand miles away.
I turned to Burt and motioning with my thumb in Jim's direction, I said, "What's up with Jim?"
"His dog ran away earlier tonight, Gus. He looked all over the neighborhood, he and his wife. They yelled and yelled but the dog never showed. He's hoping it will be back tonight. His wife is going to call here if the dog shows."
I kind of knew the answer before I asked the question, but I felt it was necessary to do so.
"What kind of dog was it, Burt?"
"One of those ankle biters. A miniture daschund is what he called it."
I felt sick. There was a queasiness in the pit of my stomach and I had to rest my hand on the counter to maintain my balance from the light-headedness I was now experiencing. A tear began to form at the corner of my eye and I quickly started coughing so I could turn around and wipe the tear away without my buddies seeing my momentary display of weakness.
Now composed I said to the group, "Let's play some poker!"
We all headed into the dining room and sat around the table. I looked at Jim and said, "Sorry to hear about your dog, man. I'm sure he'll show up."
Jim smiled weakly and said, "Thanks, Gus. I hope you're right."
I then picked up the deck and announced, "First Jack deals" and began firing the cards out in a quick clockwise motion.
Now, here's my question: Did I handle this situation properly? Should I have told my friend his daschund was now in a coyote's stomach?
In hindsight I wish I would have told him because now the poor guy is going to spend months, maybe years, staring out the window, waiting for the return of his beloved daschund.
And it's never going to happen.
Gosh, that's one of my big fears, with lots of coyotes
around here and having a smaller dog. My neighbor's cat
got taken right in front of our house during the night, and
the screams were just heart wrenching.
I don't know gustav, if it were me, I would like to know.
OK, I can never tell with these yarns if they're real or not (or basically real with embroidered details, or basically fiction with real details, or...)
BUT, assuming it's true, I agree with CJ. Better to know than wonder. (And who knows, maybe it was another minpin... it's possible...)
Are you accusing me of embroidering, soz?
The nerve!
gus strikes me as more a quilter than embroiderer
Gus, what I do in situations is refer to my WWSD bracelet, which stands for "What Would Sozobe Do?"
Seems you should have told the guy. I would have been as graphic as possible in my description. Maybe throw in that the dog was twitching and weakly attempting to yelp.
If it had been a collie, I would have told him. It being the breed it was, you did the right thing.
Both the National and American Kennel Clubs report a Dachshund
population of over a million animals. The chances that you saw the missing Dachshund are therefore a frigging million to one.
Did you win any pots?
Joe
I had a really sweet cat who lived at my workshop out in the country where I work every day. I'd had her for several years--since she was an abandoned kitten, so she and I were best buddies.
This cat, whom I called "Cat," would come running whenever I called her name--really pretty amazing.
Well, a couple months ago, she didn't come when I called. For three or four days I couldn't find her. Then one day, I found her remains out in the yard. She'd apparently been a larger life form's dinner (we have coyotes aplenty).
Now, as much as that hurts me, and as unfair as I think that was to a very, very sweet and loyal cat, it was very much a relief once I knew the answer to whether she was going to come home one day or not.
Yes, I would have prefered her alive, but just the knowing brought some peace; closure if you will. I would buy your friend some flowers or ice cream or whatever he likes, write a nice sympathy card, and tell him you think you saw his deceased dog. Then ask if he wants details or not.
===========
As a sidebar, I hurt so badly for Cat, and miss her so much, it makes me really ponder how very uncomprehensible it must be to try to understand the pain of a parent who has lost a child.
General Tsao
Slappy Doo Hoo wrote:Seems you should have told the guy. I would have been as graphic as possible in my description. Maybe throw in that the dog was twitching and weakly attempting to yelp.
Of the thousands of people who frequent this site, why is it that Slappy always....ALWAYS...... has the perfect answer.
Without Slappy's guidance I would stumble through life making the wrong decisions and leaving pain and suffering in my wake.
I now know what I must do.
<Gustav departs toward the telephone, rehearsing the graphic conversation shortly forthcoming>
Cool story, gus. Is it fiction, soz? Gus doesn't write fiction just as johnboy doesn't write fiction in the (duh?) Original Writing category. It is all true. Every word; every image. Gus and I are redneck southern boys. Would we ever make stuff up?
You mentioned on another thread, soz, that you once worked in a used book store.
It wasn't Half Priced Books, in the Miracle Mile, was it?
Or might it have been the one on Hennepin? (By the Lagoon)
Or was it the one in Madison with Walt Stegner's "Crossing to Safety" poster seemingly in the front window forever?
I need this information for the book I am writing about you.
No no and no, so pbbbthhht!
(You wanna feel the sting of that laser again, boyo?)
oooohhhhh.... Soz lasered Gus?
Never mind all the dog stuff, let's get down to the important business here.......(removing cigar from mouth and pointing it at Gus)....you looked at my cards when I went to the head, ....didn't you?
By the way, there is a rumor going on around A2K re Gus. According to the story I am hearing, he teaches Quantitavive Analysis in the Yale MBA program. I can't verify that yet, but you heard the rumor here first.
Quote:you looked at my cards when I went to the head, ....didn't you?
still waiting for an answer....noticeable silence from Gus....