Post #38: Mother’s Day and Blessings of Grandchildren

It was 6:30 in the evening.  It was a Sunday.  It was Mother’s Day.  And we were in a campground, far from home, locked out of our trailer.  We should be roasting wieners (not our dogs) and marshmallows over a fire by now.

Instead, I was on the phone, talking to an RV repairman, explaining that the lock to our fifth wheel was broken, and we couldn’t get in.

Amazingly, he agreed to come out that night to help us!  Who does that?  Only an awesomely kind man who likes to help people.

The repairman showed up with a 14 year old grandson in tow.  He looked at the door.  Yes, the lock was broken.  He attempted to take it off from the outside, but could not. 

Then he asked if we had a laundry shoot in our Fifth Wheel.  If you are not familiar with Fifth Wheels, then you may not know that they have a “basement.”  The front of the fifth wheel is raised up so that you can back the bed of your pickup under it.  This is where the king pin is, that attaches to the hitch in the bed of the pickup.  The space over the bed of the pickup is where an extra room (usually the bedroom and bathroom) is.  Since a bit of ramping is involved in the construction, there is space under part of the floor which is used for storage.  Since it sits below the room, it is called the basement.  Some Fifth Wheels have a hole under the bathroom sink that can be used as a laundry shoot.  It may sound big, but trust me, it is not. 

“Yes,” I told him, “we do have a laundry shoot.”  We walked around to the side of the trailer where the laundry shoot was, and I opened the door to the basement.  We took turns sticking our heads in and looking up.  It was a mighty small hole.  An adult could not crawl through that hole.

But, maybe a seven year old girl would fit?  We just happened to have one of those.  Kathy took the truck, drove down to Jason’s campsite and kidnapped the girls.  Jason and Melissa were still working on setting up camp, and didn’t know that we now had plans for their daughters.

We brought Allie, our seven year old granddaughter over and showed her the hole. Did she think she could crawl up there for us?  She was a little nervous about crawling up into the trailer.  It was starting to get dark.  But she agreed to do it.

The repairman told Allie what he wanted her to do:  Crawl through the laundry shoot, push open the cabinet door, crawl out into the bathroom, go out into the hall and down the stairs, and then turn the deadbolt lock and open the door.  Allie did as told.  But the lock still wouldn’t open.  I started thinking about finding a dog-friendly hotel again.

The repairman had another plan.

There are two emergency exits in a Fifth wheel.  These are windows that unlatch from the inside, and are big enough for an adult to crawl out of.  In our trailer, one is upstairs in the bedroom, and requires a significant drop to get out.  The other is in the dining area, and is closer to the ground.  The dining table sits in front of this window.

The repairman asked Allie to crawl on top of the table, and described for her how to release the latches.  Allie did this promptly.

By this time, Jason and Melissa had arrived to find out what we were doing with their daughters.  And, it was time for dinner.  Of course, no dinner could be made.  Hot dogs and S’mores were supposed to be on the menu.  No dinner could be made until we could get into the trailer.

Now the window was open, but it was too high for old men like myself or the repairman to crawl through.  And then there was that dining table that had to be crawled across.

Fortunately, we had a 14 year old boy nearby, the repairman’s grandson.  We called him into action.  We boosted the young teen up through the window with a pocket full of tools.  He was able to disassemble the lock with his grandfather’s guidance.  At last, the door was open.

Kathy prepared dinner while the repairman installed a new deadbolt.

Allie was glad to be free of that trailer, which had quickly become dark.  Rachel (our four year old granddaughter) insisted that she be allowed to crawl through the laundry shoot.  With lights turned on, the girls made a game of going into and out of the trailer using their own private entrance.    

There is a follow-up to this story.

Three years later, Kathy and I stayed in an RV park in San Marcos, about an hour south of the other campground.  The water heater quit on us during this stay.  Not a big emergency, but an inconvenience.  Like all inconveniences, this one happened on a Sunday, when the usual places are closed.  I had noticed earlier that an RV repairman lived in one of the RV’s across the road from us, in the same park.  He had his name and phone number on the side of his truck.  I called his number and explained the problem.  I told him we would be OK until Monday, but I’d like to be put on his service call list.  The man came over right away, anyway.  How nice that I was able to find someone willing to work on a Sunday.  I thanked him profusely. 

I made small talk with him while he was making the repair.  I commented on how grateful we were that he was willing to come over and take care of this for us on a Sunday.  Then I launched into my story about getting locked out several years earlier, and how fortunate we were to find someone willing to work on Mother’s day.  He said the lock problem must happen a lot.  And then he began telling the rest of my story back to me!  We figured out that he was the same guy who helped me before. 

You meet a lot of nice people when you travel.

And sometimes, you get to meet the same nice person twice.

Post #37: Frank's First Trip with his New Pack!

It is probably not a good idea to take a new dog and start to travel with him before he has had a chance to settle into the routine of your home.  However, Mother’s Day was coming up and we had planned a trip to go camping with our Fifth Wheel at Canyon Lake before we met Frank.  Our oldest son and his family would meet us at the campground.  Since our son, daughter-in-law, and granddaughters were involved, we couldn’t just cancel the trip.

So, just a couple of days after Frank arrived, we loaded up the Fifth Wheel and took off for Canyon Lake.

Fortunately, Frank is a very good traveler.  He took his cue from PD, and settled onto Wife’s lap for the ride.  The trip was uneventful and we arrived at the campground in good spirits.  We pulled into a nice shady spot and set up camp.  

I don’t think Frank knew what to make of our trip or the trailer.  After we got the RV set up, we walked the dogs, and then went inside the trailer.  Frank was extremely nervous, and started showing some “billy goat” tendencies.  He jumped up on a chair, and from the chair he jumped on to the kitchen cabinet.  He walked up and down the cabinet a while, then jumped down onto the chair, across to another chair, on the floor, onto the couch and then up onto the table.  I knew that he had managed to climb our baby gate at home, but I had no idea he was such a jumper! 

I would have been amazed, if I hadn’t been so afraid that Frank would hurt himself.  We couldn’t stand losing another dog to a ruptured disc so soon after Henry.

We decided we had better put Frank in a crate.  Frank was not happy about the crate.  After all, crates were what dogs lived in when they lived in that noisy, lonely animal shelter.  He didn’t want to go back to the shelter.  We put him in, anyway.  It was sad for him, and sad for us, but at least Frank was safe.  And so was our trailer.

Son1 and his family arrived a short time later.

Wife and I got Frank out of the crate, locked up the trailer and took the dogs on a walk around the campground.We watched Son1 and Daughter In Law start the procedure of setting up their tents, then visited some with our granddaughters.

Wife took the girls and walked them back to the fifth wheel so that they could use the facilities.  I waited a bit with the dogs, watching the tent construction.  And then I started back for the RV, too.

When I got to our trailer, I found a frustrated wife and two anxious girls.  Wife’s key would not work on the deadbolt.  I tried my key, confident that Wife just wasn’t doing something right (guy attitude!).

Well, my key didn’t work, either.  I pushed, pulled, and lifted.  I couldn’t get the door open.  Wife left with the girls in search of the park’s restroom.  After taking care of the necessities, Wife took the girls back to their parents while I tried to figure out how to break into the trailer.

I called the office.  This was a Sunday afternoon, around 4:00 p.m.  And it was Mother’s Day!  No one answered the phone.  I used the search function on my phone to hunt down locksmiths in the area.  I found a locksmith referral site and found that the nearest locksmith was about two hours away.  I called anyway.  No answer. 

I was beginning to think that we may have to find a dog-friendly hotel nearby, and wait until Monday to get help.

Then I spotted one of the park workers driving by on a golf cart, and flagged him down.  He gave me the name of an RV repairman that he knew, and who did work in the park.  By this time, it was 6:30 in the evening.  I was pretty sure that the repairman would ask us to wait until Monday, but maybe at least he would come early enough that the entire trip wouldn’t be wasted.

Was the trip a bust?  I’ll elaborate next week when I write about how I learned some of the little known blessings of grandchildren.

Post #31: Henry Houdini

Henry healed remarkably well after his back surgery.  Henry was eventually back to his old self.  He still had speed … he was catching birds.  And he had stealth.

The thing about a black dachshund is that they can be very hard to see sometimes.  It is really tough to get a good photo of a black and tan dachshund because that shiny black fur soaks up all the available light.  Every picture of Henry that I’ve posted on this blog had to be adjusted for exposure and shadows first, or you would never have really been able to see Henry.

 

We often referred to Henry as our stealth dog because he could sometimes just disappear.  He would be in the same room, and we wouldn’t know until he was ready for us to see him.  It was impossible to see Henry at night.

 

Another nick-name for Henry was “Henry – Houdini.”  I’ve already told you how he could figure out ways to get into the mulberries despite my best efforts.  Henry could also figure out ways to get out of things he didn’t want to be in.  We would often be surprised to find Henry in rooms or other spaces that we thought we had adequately blocked off.

Our granddaughters had come for a visit one weekend, and we enjoyed taking them to the waterfront and doing other grand-parenting types of things.  We fed them a nice meal and then Wife started putting the girls to bed.  For some reason, I had not yet eaten, so I started on my meal which included among other great foods, a baked potato.  At some point, Wife asked me to come up to help with the girls.  I was only gone for a minute or two.  But when I got back downstairs, I found Henry sitting at my seat, looking up at me innocently.  I knew I hadn't really been gone long enough for him to eat my food.  He knew he wasn't allowed to eat people food.  So, I stood there and stared at Henry, and he stared back.  "Nothing wrong here, Dad!  Just watching your plate for you so the flies don't get on it."  I picked up Henry and set him on the floor.  Then I looked carefully at my plate.  I couldn't see any bites taken out of the food.  A closer inspection, however, revealed that the top of my baked potato was really, really flat.  No, Henry hadn't taken a bite, he just licked it down some.  If I hadn't caught him in my seat, I probably would have never known ...

Henry learned how to duck his head and slip out of his collar.  If he wanted to go somewhere while we were on a walk, Henry would turn toward me and dig in his heels.  I’d give the leash a “come on” tug to encourage him to follow me, and then he’d be free.  I’d be left holding an empty collar while Henry was off exploring on his own. 

We started making Henry wear a harness, rather than a simple collar.  I figured that it would be impossible for Henry to escape from his harness.  We’d have his front legs encircled by the harness.  This method actually worked … for a little while.

 

 

Henry soon had mastered the art of escaping from a harness.  I’m still not sure how he got out.  A head duck, a paw lift, and then another paw lift all in rapid succession and he was free.  And Henry’s timing had to be perfect.  I had learned not to give a steady pull on the leash.  Giving any kind of tension was always an invitation to escape.  So, rather than a steady pull (come on Henry), I’d try a quick little tug, and BOOM! He was gone.  I’d try not to tug at all, and Henry still managed to find enough tension in the line to make his escape.

I usually took Henry on walks when we travelled.  We would pull into an RV park, set up the trailer, and then go for a walk.  And then I’d have to go find Henry.

The worst times were when he got lose during a nighttime walk.  Even with a flashlight, he was almost impossible to see.  Henry could just disappear into the blackness.  I’d only be able to track Henry by listening to the jingle of his dog tags.  I'd listen, then follow the sound and stop to listen some more.  Finally, I'd shine my light, and where all had been blackness before would be a pair of brown eyes staring back at me.

I'd scoop up the animal, just hoping it was Henry, not really being sure until I got him under a street light.  Then Henry would get a free ride home, back to our trailer.  I wasn't about to let Henry try another Houdini escape again.

At least not for that night.

Post #28 Fearful Henry

I started a game of fetch with PD before Henry came into our family.  We played with a Rubber Chicken, rather than a ball or stick.  I’d throw “Chicken” and PD would run after it and bring it back.  … Or not.  

Sometimes, PD thought it was only fair to sit and wait for me to walk over to him, and then throw Chicken back across to where we started.  I was never sure which rules we were going to play by, but PD always knew.  The fun part of “Chicken” was that we could play in the house, or we could go outside and play in the yard.  We could even play in our travel trailer, if we happened to be going somewhere.

The first time Henry saw me throw Chicken was the first time I began to wonder if Henry had been hit in his previous home.  Henry cowed and walked as far away from me as he could when I raised my arm to throw Chicken.  This little game that brought so much joy to PD instilled fear and dread in Henry.  We learned of other things that scared Henry as well.

Smoke was another fear that Henry had.  The first time we started a backyard barbecue, Henry ran into the house and hid under the covers on the couch.  We took the dogs with us when we went camping.  Our normal routine was to walk the dogs around the park several times a day.  I learned that I had to steer clear of campfires and barbecues.  Henry would cower, shiver, or just stop and refuse to move once he caught the scent of smoke.  This fear lasted for several years.  We eventually were able to get Henry used to the campfire smoke.  Henry was able to walk past other campers grilling hamburgers or just burning wood without a problem.

Cats. 

Oh, Henry would act brave when he smelled and then spotted a cat.  He would bark his deepest manliest bark at the cat.  His hair would raise up in a ridge down his back, and then he would charge.  All would go as planned as long as the cat retreated from his back yard.  Or, in the case where I was walking the dogs, as long as I was able to firmly grasp the leash in my hand. 

The first time was late one evening, and I was standing in the front yard, waiting for PD and Henry to take care of their business.  Before the first instance of getting free from my leash, I did my best to protect the local cats from Henry.

Henry and PD both noticed the cat, and Henry started his deep ferocious barking routine.  Then he rushed the cat, and caught me off guard.  Henry managed to pull the leash out of my hand.

Henry raced across the street barking loudly and viciously in hot pursuit of the cat.  The cat retreated to a row of bushes by the neighbor’s house, and then turned.  The cat decided he did not want to run anymore.  He arched his back, puffed out his fur and hissed, swiping his paw at Henry.

Henry’s deep ferocious bark turned into a high pitched girly squeal as he turned around and raced back to the safety of his own yard.  He yelped and squealed all the way home, managing to run even faster in retreat than he did for the attack.  Henry really was a brave dog when possums and skunks were involved.  But cats?  Not so much.

I did my best to protect Henry from cats after that.

Post #25: Emotional Connections

Dogs are pretty amazing at picking up on our emotions.  I did not really believe that they could read us as well as they do.  I learned otherwise during a trip Wife and I took one year to Kerrville, Texas.

We had decided to visit Kerrville one year as a weekend getaway.  Kerrville is located in the Texas hill country and a lot of folk like to go to visit and drive on the narrow winding roads through the hills.  I had a friend that lived in Kerrville, and thought it would be nice to meet him during our trip.  I had met in an online forum, and had not actually met him face to face, so the trip would be a good opportunity to cement our connection.

We had dragged our Fifth-wheel behind us and stayed at a nice little park on the Guadalupe River.  We did a little bit of sight-seeing and some shopping, and I was able to meet my friend at a restaurant.  He invited us out to his house later to show off his workshop.  My friend was a contractor, so I knew that anything he built would have been well-built.  We agreed to stop by his home on our way out of town.

 

With our time off from work over, we hitched up the Fifth-wheel and the dogs, and headed to my friend’s house.  The friend lived in a nice community of homes built among the hills outside of Kerrville.  His house was at the foot of a very steep hill with homes perched along the hillside like bird’s nests.  My friend came out to greet us, and suggested that I drive up and around on the narrow road so that my truck and trailer would be facing the right direction when it was time to leave.

We started up the hill, admiring the beautiful homes.  And I was admiring my Ford F250’s diesel engine as it pulled the Fifth-wheel up the slope.  There is nothing like feeling the power of your diesel taking on a challenge like this one.  Slowly, gently, up and up we went.  Then the road turned to the right and we were on pretty level ground, although pretty high up. 

There were a couple of roads that intersected with the one we were on, but my friend had made a sweeping gesture with his hand, suggesting that we just stay on one road all the way around.  Still, I was a little uncertain.  Should I have turned back there?  What about this next one?  We passed the last intersection with some doubt, and were about to follow the road as it turned to the right again, when we saw a sign that said “Dead End.”  What?!

The next thing we saw was the road in front of us dropping down into … nothing?  Looking ahead, I saw another road rising up from the valley, but it was way off to the left of the road I was on.  I was not sure if that was the same road I was on, or if both roads dead-ended into a creek, and they were different and unconnected.  The sign we just passed had said this was a dead end!

As we started down, I was very anxious, worried that I would have to back my truck and trailer up a steep grade on a narrow road for quite a distance.  Wife was feeling the same anxiety, as we both began to second guess my decision to not turn at the last intersection.

As we started down that steep road, our anxiety must have crossed some kind of threshold.  Our normally quiet, peaceful dogs sat up and began crying.  They sang, they howled, and they barked loudly.  We moved slowly down the hill facing the unknown with our choir singing their loudest.  This was not at all helpful, and I’m sure each of us was reinforcing the anxiety of the other, bringing us all too quite a high state of fear!  Further down into the abyss we went, but not quietly.

When we drove down far enough, I could see that our road did indeed bend to the left and proceed up the other side of the hill.

Like magic, the cab of the truck became quiet.  Everyone was happy, cheerful, and relieved.  The dogs settled back down onto their laps, laying their heads down like nothing had ever happened. 

Once we arrived back at our friend’s house, facing the right direction, I asked about the “Dead End” sign.  “Oh yeah,” he replied “they just put that sign up there to keep kids from hot-rodding through the neighborhood.”

 

Post #24: Traveling With Dogs

Henry and PD got along well.  We never saw any aggression between the dogs.  And Henry did his job.  He taught PD a few things about doggy manners.  Henry was always respectful of us. 

When we brought Henry home at three months old, Henry was smaller than 6 month old PD.  But, by the time Henry reached 6 months, it was obvious that we had a full-sized dachshund, not a miniature. 

With two dogs, we could not travel as easily as before.  To stay current in my field, I attended a lot of workshops.  We had taken PD with us to a hotel when Wife decided to join me at a workshop in a distant city.  PD did fine, and we were good tenants in the hotel.  We took PD down and out to the little postage sized green space the hotel had for regular walks.  There were no “accidents” in the room. 

Leaving PD in the room in his crate by himself was a little scary, though.  We could readily see that two dogs in a hotel room would be difficult to manage.  

Our solution was to buy a travel trailer.  We found a used trailer in a local lot and took it out for a test drive.

The dogs really enjoyed the experience.  While we were on the road PD and Henry would take turns sitting in my lap, then sitting in Wife’s lap.  They expressed their creativity by producing “nose art” on the side windows of the truck as we traveled down the road.

Sometimes they would bark out the windows to scare away people or animals walking down the streets.  Apparently the barking worked, since we were never attacked by street people or animals while pulling our trailer.  Sometimes the two would spend their time just watching the scenery go by.  But most of the time, they just napped on our laps.

Every once in a while we would watch as their heads would rise up off our laps in unison.  They would begin to sniff the air, and then put their faces directly in the path of the air flowing out of the vents.  Their noses would twitch as they strove to catch every nuance of the scents that were being directed into the cab of the truck.  Something interesting was outside nearby.  Sometimes it was cattle, or it could be horses.  Most likely, it was some dead animal flattened by the traffic.  The dogs usually knew when something was coming near long before the people in the truck did.

Once in the campground, we enjoyed our time walking our dogs around the RV parks.  PD was little and cute, and he was always the one to get the most attention.  He was also the one who did not trust children.  Kids would come up and ask if they could pet PD.  We advised that they pet Henry, instead.  Henry loved kids, and loved the attention he got from them.  PD, however, would prefer that children just leave him alone.  He would allow an adult to pet him, but the result was usually a wet shoe, since PD was a submissive pee-er.

One thing that Henry did not like about RV parks was people cooking outdoors.  The smell of smoke cowed him for the first couple of years when we traveled.  I would notice that Henry would suddenly stop in his tracks and refuse to go forward.  Then I’d realize that I could smell someone barbecuing nearby.  I was eventually able to get him to walk with me past the smoking barbecue. 

After about a year with our pull-behind trailer, Wife and I decided it was time to invest in a new Fifth Wheel.  The new trailer was fabulous.  PD and Henry really enjoyed their new set of wheels.

The Fifth Wheel was also a bit higher off the ground.  Since the whole purpose of the trailer was to be able to take our dogs with us, I needed to find an easy way to get the dogs in and out of the trailer.  Larger dogs can just bound up the steps.  But when you are born with silly little legs that let your chest drag in 1 1/2” high grass, steps can be a bit of a challenge.  So I bought a board that they can use as a ramp.  Now lumber can be slippery when damp, so I had to modify the board.  I added outdoor carpeting to let the little guys gain traction.

And if I’ve got a ramp to help them get into the trailer, why not a ramp to let them up on the couch while Wife and I are out site-seeing every day.  I think I went a little “ramp – crazy.”  Because the idea of a ramp in the trailer soon grew into ramps in the house. 

In between road trips, I started building ramps.  We had ramps to help them get on couches, a ramp for the bed, and of course, a really long ramp to let them go outside from the house.  We lived in a house on pier and beams, and the house was about five foot off the ground.

And ramps are a good thing, if you happen to be a dachshund.  But that's another story.

Post #22: Survivors

One of the professional organizations I belong to was having its annual conference in Chicago.  Wife and I decided that this would make for a good vacation trip.  We could go by way of Iowa and visit my mother and sister along the way.

My mom had undergone some emergency surgery about six months earlier and was still recovering.  She had suffered from pancreatitis and a bowel blockage.  As a result she now was sporting an ostomy bag.  Mom seemed to be taking this in stride, although I think she felt like she smelled, and she really didn’t like the mess.

We packed up our Fifth-Wheel travel trailer and headed north.  The conference was being held the in the middle of October.  Since we live in Deep South Texas, all of our RV parks are open all year long.  The cold weather never lasts very long, and is something we never give any thought too.  I was surprised to learn that the reservations we made in Chicago were for the last week the park would be open until spring. 

We planned to stay a couple of days in Iowa for our visit.  We were surprised when the park owner kept asking us if we would be unhooking our trailer.  It sounded like she really didn’t want us to stay.  We assured her we would be unhooking, that we would be staying two nights, and that we might actually drive into town in our tow vehicle.  She relented and assigned us a spot.

My mother, sister and two nieces made the drive out to visit us at the park.  I enjoyed the time I was able to spend with my family.  Henry made himself the darling of the family.  He got along with everyone.  Henry made a special effort to make my mom feel good.  He curled up by her side and let her know that he loved her and thought she was special.  Mom was surprised by the affection and acceptance Henry gave her.  She was expecting to be avoided by the dogs because of her ostomy bag.

We left Iowa and moved into our RV space just outside of Chicago.  This was a nice, quiet park, with close access to the trains that would be taking me into town and to my conference.

Our normal routine when we camp is to take our dogs out several times a day to walk around the RV Park.  Everyone gets a little exercise.  We get to see what other RV’s look like.  And the dogs have a chance to become familiar with their new, but temporary, surroundings.  Oh, and the walks help ensure that no one makes a mess on the floor of the trailer.

One of the things we grabbed when Wife’s father sold his grocery store was a roll of produce bags.  These bags make great “swear-prevention bags.”  We stuff a couple into our pockets whenever we go for walks and are ready to scoop up our dog’s deposits.  Keeping the pathways clean helps keep the language in the park clean.  When people don’t unknowingly step in the deposits, they don’t have to start saying nasty words.  Just our little contribution to society.

One evening, PD started throwing up after our walk.  He did this several times, and kept vomiting until nothing was coming up.  We knew something was seriously wrong with PD.  Here we were 1300 miles from our vet, it was after 7:00 p.m., and PD was sick.  We had Wi-Fi internet at the park and I was able to do a search for nearby vets, wondering if there was any way we could talk a vet into seeing us after hours.

I found a vet nearby.  Not only was the vet close to us, but it was a vet that was only open from 6:00 p.m. to 6:00 a.m.  This was a true blessing!

We rushed PD to the clinic and the vet checked out PD.  She took him back and too X-Rays.  The vet complimented PD for being so compliant.  She told us that she placed him on his back and he lay perfectly still.  We didn’t tell her that he was waiting for his tummy rub.

The X-Ray showed no blockage and nothing unusual in his stomach or intestines.  She could see nothing that might be hurting him.  The vet gave PD a shot to stop the nausea and sent us home.

PD was lethargic.  Otherwise, he was OK that night.  The shot wore off in the morning and PD vomited again.  This time he threw up a peach pit!

We called the vet and she explained that the pit would not have shown up on the X-Ray because it had the same density as PD’s soft tissue.  The pit could have traveled deeper into his digestive tract, producing pain and requiring surgery, assuming we would have got him back to the vet on time.  The pit could have killed him.

I figure, this was PD’s third miracle.  Another opportunity for death to claim this little guy, and death missed him again!  His vomiting and bloody stool as a too-young puppy, his survival from eating a Sago Palm seed, and now the peach pit.

Since this event, Wife and I have often thought how stopping the vomiting was probably the wrong treatment.  PD’s ability to regurgitate his stomach’s contents once again saved him.

 

Post #11: Bonnieview

My father-in-law, Bill bought a large piece of property with his best friend, William.  This about 600 acres on the Aransas River.  The nearest town was a small place called Bonnie View, and so that's what we named the property.

The Aransas River took a turn toward the bay at this point, so the property had more than its share of river frontage.  Bill had bought the property as an investment, and so it was "for sale" as soon as they purchased it.  In the meantime, this was a great place for a family with two boys to visit and explore.

The property was just across the river from the Welder Wildlife Refuge, so there was no shortage of animal life.  I took a friend to visit the property once, and he noticed something I had not.  This was the first time my city dwelling friend had ever looked around and not been able to see a utility pole.

This was a good place to hunt deer, wild hogs, turkey and dove.  I have tried my hand at deer hunting exactly two times.  The first time we went to Bonnie View as a family.  My father and his wife had pulled their travel trailer from Arizona to visit and to go hunting with me.  He loved to camp, and had never had the chance to take me on a hunt.  My father had hunted all of his life, beginning during the depression on his family farm in Iowa.  Back then, hunting was necessary to keep the family supplied in meat.  Later, he hunted for the sport of it.  He had brought his rifle and scope to give to me, since he knew he'd had his last hunt.  We slept in a tent, and they stayed in the trailer.  The camping out was great fun. 

We got up early the next morning and trudged off to our deer blinds.  Jason and John went off to a deer blind that was on one end of the property.  I remembered seeing a deer blind on the other end.  I took my elderly father to that spot. 

After a lifetime of smoking cigarettes, my father who was nearing 70, had COPD.  He carried oxygen with him wherever he went.  He had a small pack that he strapped over his shoulder or around his waist, and he could pretty much go wherever he wanted, as long as his tank didn't run empty.

So, off the two of us went.  Me carrying the rifle and scope that my dad had taken on many hunting trips, and him carrying his oxygen.  We walked, and walked, and walked some more.  The blind was a little further away than I had remembered.  I had not bothered to check on it the day before, so I was relying on old memory.  When we finally arrived, the blind was gone!  The blind had been put on the property by one of Bill's friends.  Apparently the friend had decided to take it down and move it to a new location.

Well, that was really OK with me.  I wasn't real sure that I wanted to shoot anything that day, anyway.  It was nice just to be out there with my dad.  So, we turned around and started back.  We were about half-way back to the camp site when I spotted a family of wild hogs crossing the road.  It looked like there were four adults and a half-dozen piglets.

All I could think of was that horrible scene from the book "Old Yeller."  There were a few small shrub oak around, but noting that could get us above charging wild hogs with 3' long razor sharp tusks!  Besides, my dad couldn't climb a tree with his oxygen tank.  The rifle was a single shot.  I couldn't be sure that if I shot one hog, the rest would get scared and run away.  They might just get mad and charge, instead.  I might have time to reload and shoot two more hogs, if I were quick and accurate.  But then the rest of the hogs would be on top of us.  There's that awful scene from Old Yeller again.

So, we froze.  And we waited.

And the hogs crossed the road, totally ignoring us!  Whew.

My second time to go deer hunting was a trip I made with just Jason.  We were at the property before dawn, and we each climbed into a different deer blind.  And then we waited. 

It was cold that morning as the sun turned the darkness to grey, and then brightened everything around us.  I looked into the clearing in front of me, watching for a deer to walk across my line of site, holding my father’s rifle at the ready.  As the dawn emerged on the South Texas brush country, new ideas were dawning in me.  If I did actually see a deer, I was pretty sure I would be able to shoot it, even though it would be the largest animal I had ever shot.  However, there was just a bit of doubt.  Did I really want to kill an animal?  Hogs, snakes and predators would be no problem, but a deer?  And the other concern:  Once I shot the deer, then what?  I knew nothing about gutting and skinning animals.  Doing the initial butchering to get them ready for the final job at the butcher’s shop would be a messy job.  A job I knew I wouldn’t like.

I was relieved that morning that I didn’t have to make that decision.  No deer was seen by either of us that day.  And I was able to make the decision that I am not a deer hunter.  I told this to Jason as I handed him my father’s deer rifle, letting it skip a generation as the rifle moved into the hands of a young man with more appreciation of its purpose than I had. 

The first time we went to see Bonnie View, we went as a family.  Kathy and our sons and Kathy’s sister and her husband made the 45 minute drive to check out this new piece of property.  There was a slough that collected run – off from the property and ran into the river.  It was stagnant water most of the year.  We had driven to the slough at the farthest end of the property.  Everyone got out and started exploring.  Kathy and her sister stood at the fork, watching the river and visiting.  All of us guys headed off to see how far inland the slough ran.

The boys and their uncle go interested in looking at things around the slough, and I walked back to where Kathy and sister were.  Kathy got the idea that she would like to play a little trick on the boys.  There was a small log floating just off shore.  She thought it looked a little like an alligator.  So she thought she would scare the boys and tell them there was an alligator in the water. 

The boys returned and Kathy launched into her little deceit, pointing to the log, trying to convince them that it was an alligator.  Kathy was really convincing, because, as we all watched it looked like a pair of eyes and snout were emerging from the water.  Sometimes Karma doesn’t take long to boomerang back.  This log really was a young alligator.  He was about four or five feet long.

I had my rod and reel in the back of the truck.  I grabbed it and stuck a plastic frog on the end of the line.  I was curious to see what the alligator would do with the frog.  Would it chase it?  Or just ignore it? 

He was patient, and ignored my frog the first time I cast it out to him.  The second time, he got a bit annoyed with me, and snapped at the frog.  There was no chasing.  It happened that quickly!  One snap and I had caught the alligator.  He went under water, and tried to get away, but I kept hold of the line and started to reel him in.  It was hard at first, and then it got easy.

Too easy.

That alligator resurfaced and was staring at me as I reeled him in.  Everyone started heading for their vehicles. And I began to realize that there just might a down-side to catching an 8 foot alligator.  Did he seem a bit bigger now than when I started?

We did eventually let Katie come with us, but that’s a story for next time.