Our Story Continues…

I’ve been witness to many dog fights in my time, however canine clashes never seem as fierce as they are with huskies involved. Perhaps it derives from the raw primeval "wolf element" in their distant past, but when huskies go to battle it is fierce, vicious, and malevolently intense. One grasps the distinct impression that when the fight has ended only one dog will still be breathing…and even that may not be for very long.

The rest of the canine world Taz simply and nonviolently outsmarts, however Taz has had some "battles to the death" with other huskies. Ugly, fur tearing, fang slashing epics that take only a few seconds, but to us humans, seem to last forever.

I have been extremely fortunate to be able to wade into these fights and break them up without being ripped asunder by the combatants.

However, as Robbi and I were putting finishing touches on the TAZ book, there occurred a situation with a couple of dogs, requiring some veterinary "reupholstering". As the gentle reader may know from these tales, we have a very good and very interesting vet. As the vet and I stood chatting, somewhat prideful mention was made of how I wade in and take control of the situation.

My bravado stood very short lived. The vet made it very clear that my actions were very stupid. His example was simple and direct:

He held up his hand. "Nothing in a dog’s anatomy is as sophisticated as this." He flexed his fingers individually for emphasis.

"Once destroyed, it can never be fully repaired. One bite is all it takes and in the heat of battle, the dog does not look and think about what he is attacking. I can put dogs back together, but medicine can not replace your hand."

Enough said. I stood completely chagrined.

That night, another flare up occurred. I grabbed a chair and set it down in the middle of the warring parties. They were so confused by the big chair that suddenly appeared in their midst that they broke off the conflict and cooled down. Since then, I have utilized a variety of implements: Water, broom sticks, a hat rack, a big animal carrier. They all work…and so do my hands. I thank Providence for protecting me until I finally learned to think about this sort of thing.

I know it sounds just like what our parents used to say: "Don’t do what I do. Do what I say!"

But let me offer a slight variation: "Don’t do what I USED to do. Do what I do Now."

…still able to count to ten…

without the aid of my toes.

Scott, Robbi, TAZ and the Siberian Cyclone.

TAZ Adventures © Scott Ringwelski

All Rights Reserved – Used by Permission

Correspondence: ColonelTAZ@yahoo.com