Killer Dogs And A Boy's Lessons of Life
Sometime in the Fifties, the boy’s parents could not feed all the kids. The parents sent him to live and work with his Grandparents on the farm. The boy was 9, and the chores he was assigned were physically hard, but not beyond his capabilities. For him life was good, he was away from his abusive Mother. And he did not have to share the bed with little brothers that wet the bed at night. He had his own bed and all he could eat for the first time in a long time. His skinny (malnourished) body started putting on some muscle and weight.
Late one night, several hours after they had gone to bed, a man rode up and hailed the house. His horse was lathered, and showed it had been pushed to make the trip. The Grandfather went out and talked with the man, who turned out to be the local General Store Owner’s brother. Who also owned a neighboring farm. A message was passed on, they talked for a while. The man left, walking his horse now that the message had been given. The Grandfather came in and went back to his bedroom discussing the news brought by the neighbor in a low tone with the Grandmother.
Earlier that day in Kemptown things were happening. A Yankee man had arrived several days ago. This Yankee was hanging out at the General Store, and trying to find out from the local men, just who was making good whiskey in the area. He also was trying to find out who was bootlegging that whiskey. Of course the locals would not discuss such a sensitive thing with an outsider, especially a Damned Yankee. After four days and no one giving him any information, people were surprised he was still hanging around. (Got to remember many of these old folks were the children of veterans of the War Of Northern Aggression. There was no such thing as a good Yankee).
Come Saturday morning, many of the local men came to the store to purchase items they needed on their farms, but for most it was a day to sit, relax, and play dominos. The side porch at the store would have three or four tables with chairs set up for the players. The Yankee man moved in and started playing dominos at one of the tables. He was not really welcome, but no one wanted to start a ruckus so they let him stay. Come lunch time, to avoid missing out on the game he would rush into the store and grab some cheese, crackers, and a soda pop. Yelling at the store owner to put them on his tab, and then rush back to the game. Long in the evening, the store owner not really knowing this man decided to make sure he got paid. The store owner went out and removed the keys from the car the Yankee was driving, placing them in his cash box. Still no one would give up information about the whiskey makers or bootleggers. And the Yankee man was really getting frustrated, even a little mad.
As milking time grew near the farmers would quite the games and get on their horses or into their wagons and head home. The store owner’s two young boys 8 and 10 had been playing around the store all day as usual. As the men left the Yankee man disappeared. His car was still there in front of the store, but no one remembered seeing him leave. Then the store owner closed up shop and headed home to dinner himself. The store owner did not get too concerned about the boys not showing up for dinner, since they often got to playing with the boys up the hill. But come dark the store owner got concerned and went out looking for his boys. Not finding them in the usual places he got out his hound and she took him straight to the boys.
No one noticed the Yankee man slipping down off the hill from behind the Church. He ran across the road to his car, jumped in, then went to cussing. He opened the door got out and started looking throughout the car for the keys. Not finding them, he got real agitated. Without his car, the only way to get back to Nashville was to go to the river. Cross the river to the highway, and then catch a ride. It was several miles to the river, but if he hurried he could make it before dawn. The shortest way was to cut across fields and wooded areas. Plus he had a desperate reason not to be on the roads in that area. He needed to get out of the area fast.
The store owner found his boys just before midnight. They had been locked in the outhouse behind the Church. The oldest was crying, and saying he was not able to protect his younger brother from the man. The younger boy was hurt. He had been beaten pretty badly. Both boys had been sexually abused. There was a Retired Doctor living in the area, so a neighbor went to get him. After the doctor was finished, he told the boy’s parents that they would be physically OK in a few days. But the [font=]psychological affects might never wear off. [/font]
The store owner called his brother, who had stayed for dinner, and helped search for the boys. The store owner instructed his brother to go to the brother’s neighbor’s farm and to give him a message. The Store Owner wanted a killer dog to be brought to the store early the next morning. The Brother saddled his horse and made the trip to the farm to relay the message.
Now a Killer Dog was a dog that at some time had badly injured a human. He had gotten the taste of human blood. These old Scotch/Irish folks believed that once a dog had gotten the taste of human blood, they could never be trusted around people again. They would eventually turn and injure or kill someone. There were two Killer Dogs in the community. One was an Airedale, owned by the store owner. It was kept chained up behind the owner’s house. The other one was owned by the boy’s Grandfather, a Pit Bull. Both had caught thieves in their owners sheds and had done serious damage to the thieves. Enough so that the people of the community did not feel they should be kept around.
The Grandfather woke the boy up at 4 AM, an hour earlier than usual. He told the boy to get his chores done, they were leaving soon. The Grandfather went out to the barn and brought in the milk cows from the paddock behind the barn. The boy put a fresh flake of hay in the milking stall, then mixed the Hog feed with water, and got it ready. The Grandfather would not allow him to enter the hog’s stall. Then while the Grandfather was milking, the boy brought in the horses and gave them a small can of oats as instructed. After the milking the boy was instructed to take the cows across the road and turn them loose in the pasture. That was something the boy had never been allowed to do before. When he returned to the barn the Grandfather had the horses harnessed, and hooked up to the wagon. Grandfather removed the Killer Dog from his pen and chained him up in the back of the wagon bed. They climbed aboard the wagon and drove to the house, for breakfast.
The Boy’s Grandmother was waiting there with breakfast on the table. She immediately started arguing with the Grandfather that the Boy was too young to be going on something like this. The Grandfather stood his ground and said, “No the Boy will be a man someday, and it’s about time he learned about things that sometimes needs doing”. “There is some things folks just need to do themselves”. “Now you hush up about it, there ain’t goin to be more talk”. The boy followed his Grandfather into the dining room and sat to breakfast. Grandfather said “Eat up son, we got to be going”. While they ate, the Grandmother put some sausage patties, biscuits, a small jar of cream style corn, and two big pieces of cake, wrapped up in news paper, in a flour sack. As soon as they were finished, they went out the back door and climbed into the wagon. Grandmother handed the Boy the sack of food, and a jug of water. She also handed him a couple of biscuits with sausages inside. The boy hung the food bag from a wagon standard. The jug he tied in place in the front corner of the wagon box. The two lone sausage biscuits he put in his coat pocket.
Grandfather started the horses walking out to the road. Upon reaching the road he pushed them into a trot. This told the Boy, something important was in the wind, since the Grandfather never trotted the horses in harness. When he reached the big hill, Grandfather pulled them down to a fast walk, up and over the hill. After turning the corner onto the Kemptown road, where the road flattened out he once again pushed them up to a trot. After a quarter mile he pushed them on up into a canter, then let them out to a full run. The boy will never forget the ride in that old farm wagon trying to keep his footing holding onto a wagon standard to keep from being thrown to the floor. Or worse yet, thrown out of the wagon. That old dirt road was sure rough. There was no seat to sit on in this wagon, just one two foot side boards, and eight standards, four per side. A wagon standard is a pole about three inches in diameter, and four to six feet high. They were stuck into sockets along the wagon sides, standing straight up.
Upon reaching Kemptown, the horses were lathered up pretty well, and breathing hard. The Grandfather told the Boy to unharness the horses, and walk them till they were cool. A couple of men came from the store porch to help the Boy, since he was not tall enough to take the collars off, or slide the harness off those big horses. Grandfather took the killer dog and chained him to the porch post in front of the store. The giant Airedale was brought up by two men and chained to another post. Both dogs tried to get to one another, and kept snarling and growling at each other. Everyone knew there would be one hell of a fight of those dogs got loose.
Even tho it was Sunday, several men were at the store. One man was working behind the counter, selling things. A couple of men were unloading a truck that had come in overnight loaded with feed, that usually would have waited till Monday. Someone had stoked a fire in the old pot bellied stove to knock the chill off the morning air.
Then Littleman (Littleman was a midget, and thought very highly of around those parts) came riding up the road on his seventeen and a half hands riding mule. Grandfather took the mule, and ask Littleman to go over and help the Boy with the horses. Grandfather took the mule down to the store owner’s small barn. Shortly Grandfather and Storeowner came back to the store with the mule saddled, and ready to go. There were several feed sacks tied behind the saddle, and a rifle scabbard hanging on the side, under the saddle fender. Storeowner also had his prize tracking dog on a leash. This dog was used in the community to find children and old folks that wandered away. She was a Walker hound, and the best tracker in those parts. Storeowner came up and thanked the men there for coming out so early and helping out. The store owner stood and told all the men that no one was to follow him, that was as far as any of them was to go. He would be back when he was finished with what he had to do.
Storeowner took the hound out to the parked car, and let her sniff inside the car. Then he walked her around the car. He turned her loose and gave the command to, “Go Find”. Off she went, baying as she ran. She ran down the road for about 100 yards then went under the fence and headed across the big pasture. Storeowner jumped the mule across the fence, and the last the men gathered around saw of him that day was of him riding at a fast lope across the pasture. Before he was out of sight, Grandfather and Littleman turned the Killer dogs loose. As soon as the dogs had heard the hound baying they lost all ideas of fighting. They knew their job was to keep up with the hound till they got sight of the quarry. They both left the store running hard to catch the hound.
Men came and left the store that day. They stood around in groups of three and four talking in low tones. Their speech was toned down when the Boy approached, and often they changed the subject. But eventually the Boy heard enough to understand what had happened and what was going to happen. Grandfather played dominos off and on. Someone brought a jug out, and it was passed around. Most men took a swig then passed it on saying they did not want anymore, “Was not the day for it”. The jug was put away. Some men came, left, then came back. Most left just before dark saying they would be milking by lantern light by the time they got home.
Shortly after dark, some of the guard dogs started barking at something coming across the big pasture. Soon someone was seen jumping a mule across the fence. Word was spread throughout the store and the small community of Kemptown that the Storeowner was coming back. Men came running to the store. The Store owner rode up to the porch where the Grandfather was sitting on some feed bags. Taking a rifle casing from his pocket, he tossed it to Grandfather saying, “That one was your dog”. From another pocket he withdrew another casing. Holding it up he said, “This one was for my dog”. “Tell the folks, no more Killer Dogs around here”. “I rode all the way to the river, then turned upstream all the way to the lock”. “That is where I caught up with the dogs; they had done their job by the time I got there”. “I shot them both”.
Storeowner got off the mule, handing the reins to Littleman, and slowly walked to his house. The Boy remembers him looking very tired and very old at that moment. Grandfather and the Boy harnessed the horses and drove home walking the horses all the way to the farm. Littleman unsaddled the sweaty mule, putting the saddle on the store porch. Littleman led his mule off towards home. The men locked the store and left the key on Storeowners front porch.
No one had gone to Church that day, after all it was Sunday. Monday morning the preacher rang the bell at sunup. At 9 AM all the community turned out for Church Services.
Ten years later the Boy was getting ready to leave home. He was going into the military. TVA was getting ready to start work on a new dam. The old dam and lock was going to be torn out, it was too low, and would be a problem for navigation on the river. Survey crews were scheduled to come and look the place over to see what had to be done, and to survey the area. The Grandfather called the Boy and told him he needed his help. The Grandfather was now disabled due to a heart attack, and old age. He could no longer drive, and could hardly walk. The boy drove to the old lock and parked the car. He helped his Grandfather down the bank off the roadbed, and across the field along the river. They stood and looked across the river for a long time. Grandfather wanted to stop and talk to the Storeowner before going back to the farm. The Boy stayed in the car.
Storeowner died a year later. The Grandfather died three years later, while the Boy was serving overseas. Littleman also died a day after his best friend The Grandfather died. Storeowner’s two boys, the youngest committed suicide when he was in his twenties. The older one was killed in a car accident. Some folks said he ran off the road on purpose, no one knows. Today all the folks that lived in that community have passed on. Only the Boy is left to remember what happened that day, and the lessons learned. He is an old man now himself. As John Wayne said in one of his movies, “Sometimes a man’s got to do what a man’s got to do”. End Of Story.
[font=]The name of the community, and people, has been changed to protect the Grand Kids and Great Grand Kids of those that lived there at the time. [/font]Oh and the Yankee Man’s car, it found its way to the bottom of a rock quarry full of water, scheduled for reclamation.
[font=]This is the worst job I've ever done, maybe it's time to quite. Rog[/font]
