Some day I may write about Shed, the dog I got from a
classified ad in 1977 when I was 19. I
had returned from one year at Antioch College and was attending McHenry
County College
in Woodstock Illinois
Some of the stories about Shed, which I might elaborate on,
follow:
EARLY YEARS
Introductions
I showed her to my folks the next morning, and they were
gracious in accepting this little bundle into the household. I admit that I was a very attentive owner and
Shed, who I also called “buddy,” was, for the next many years, probably my best
personal friend.
Naming of Shed
Yes, she took a long time – I thought – to learn where to
defecate and pee. So, many accidents and
mop-ups later, I called her Shithead, affectionately of course, and the name
stuck. I sometimes said it meant SheDog,
but it didn’t. There was nothing not to
love about that little puppy, and I don’t believe anyone ever was really
offended by that name.
Fell in a Well
Mom was working in one of the outbuildings (the farrowing
barn) and had removed the heavy square concrete floor-plug from the well, leaving exposed a
hole 1.5 foot square over the well that was maybe 8-10 feet deep. The
well was not filled with water, but it had pipes and valves and concrete blocks
at the bottom of it. Shed, trundling
around the building, tumbled in without a sound in the falling, or
afterwards. When a flashlight was
rounded up, there at the bottom she sat, looking up with interest at the faces
appearing in the little square frame of light way above.
Freezing Storm
I was forgetful one night after letting her out before bedtime, and there she stayed. She was
just several months old. It was a bad
winter storm, but instead of seeking shelter she had huddled by the back door
all night on the concrete stoop, fully exposed to the wind. By morning she had melted a small hole in the
ice which was more than half inch thick, all the way to the concrete pad. She was so happy to see me and tired, but not
troubled at all.
Exhausted
As a small pup, maybe 8 weeks old, I was surprised how
eagerly she followed me on a quick jog around the farm. She didn’t show any sign of fatigue so I
didn’t slow down, and she raced after me through the high grasses, in the tire
tread of the tractor lanes. It must have
been about 20 minutes and I was concluding that her stamina was endless as I
approached the farm buildings and headed toward the house. But as soon as she realized where she was she
threw her legs out to all sides and collapsed flat out. I realized that she had probably been afraid
I was leaving her behind, and had been running for her life.
Lost her First Tooth
Some of my books said training could begin at three months,
so that’s what I attempted. First, I
thought, she should learn to walk on a leash.
She though it was great fun to bite the leash instead, and once I gave
it a tug to pull it out of her mouth. It
was a braided leather leash and one baby canine tooth had gone into a gap in
the braid. It snapped off clean and she
made a facial expression I’ll never forget.
She didn’t yelp or howl, bark or growl.
She didn’t seem to blame me, or make any noise at all. She just gave a long wince and her little
puppy mouth turned into a little round hole in the front as if she was mouthing
“owwwwwwwwwwwwwww!”
Training
I spend a good amount of time training Shed. I’d bought a half-dozen books or so, but then
just did what seemed right. She could
heel very well, and “heel close” meant stay right
there, when we were crossing the street, for example. I wanted her to trust me so when I went for a
jog on our Pioneer Road
So she learned that I could be trusted; it breaks my heart
now to think how it must have been, at her age of 6, when I went back to SIU
for my master’s degree and did not take her!
At the time I was distracted by my own life and did not fully appreciate
her loss. But this is always balanced by
knowing how well she was cared for by my folks -- who generously offered to
take her on – and also knowing that she had the run of the farm, with all its little smells and animals, changes, and little mysteries.
At one point I wrote down all the commands or words that I
knew she understood, because she would react to them -- and there were easily
50. I taped the paper to the kitchen
cabinet but did not make a copy of it though I wish that I had.
Come/heel/sit/stay/stick around/go over there/no/yes/good/ok/treat/let’s go/get in (the car)/other side (go around to the other door)/wait/drop it/jump/over/go under/toy/leash … these were just some of them. I would often put her through the paces, which she seemed to enjoy.
Come/heel/sit/stay/stick around/go over there/no/yes/good/ok/treat/let’s go/get in (the car)/other side (go around to the other door)/wait/drop it/jump/over/go under/toy/leash … these were just some of them. I would often put her through the paces, which she seemed to enjoy.
Chickens
When quite young she killed a few chickens. They ran freely around the yard at that time,
and it really upset me because I thought that was a deal-breaker for me being able to keep her. You can't have chickens running free and a dog that kills chickens; and the chickens were there first. So I was more forceful in my training about chickens than I had been about
anything prior. I took a dead chicken
and jammed it in her mouth and then punished her harshly. From that day on she killed no more chickens. But she would never again accept anything from
my hand. If I were to offer her a piece
of meat, even, she would turn her head and tear up .. to her final day.
My Pillow
Another incident that happened once only was when we were
both very tired and napping on the floor of my room. I put my head on her as a pillow and we both
slept soundly. After a time I roused
myself enough to crawl over to my bed to get a better sleep. I was surprised to awaken and find that
Shed had climbed onto my bed and wriggled herself under my head as a pillow
still. I’m sorry to say that my reflex
was to chase her off the bed with a quick scold. She never let me use her as pillow, ever
again.
Climb tree
When she was young she actually tried to follow me up a tree
and did get up the lower two branches, which surprised me. I don’t remember which tree it was but my
recollection is that it was quite a feat for a dog. I had to help her down.
MIDDLE YEARS
Personal Characteristics
I never knew what it was of Shed that wasn’t full German Shepherd, but later when I got another dog I tried to find a match and settled
on a Groenendael (Belgian Sheepdog).
It’s unlikely that Shed’s father was a Groenendael because they are
rare; but whatever he was seemed to soften and sensitize her personality somewhat, compared to a fullbred Shepherd. It also left one ear drooping while the other
stood up. This bothered me at first for
aesthetic reasons and I even had taped a toilet paper tube in it when she was a
puppy, to stiffen it – to no avail.
That failed trick came from one of my books. Later, she and I would sit side by side in
the back 20, overlooking the creek and her one ear would be trained to the
distance, the other left for local sounds.
I found that if I mimicked her panting, pausing alertly just like her, I
could experience the Back 20 something like she did. The chirps, the creaks, the croaks -- I heard more of them with Shed beside me.
Water
She hated to be bathed, and suffered through it only under
command and only (to my knowledge) by my hand.
I did not bathe her often. Nor
did she like to swim – but she would ride happily in the canoe, stock upright,
still, and alert right in the middle, but she would not get into the water
unless (on rare occasions) she thought she was being left behind. This sometimes happened when we would canoe
down the Nippersink Creek. She'd run along the bank and sometimes jump into shallow water to get to the canoe.
Bones, toys, and birds
I thought it was interesting to see what she did when I gave
her a rawhide bone. She absolutely loved
that, and I wonder why I didn’t give her one more often. But watching from the kitchen I saw the
oddest behavior. She walked slowly
around the yard in the same odd circuitous path four times, then suddenly broke
from the path in a fast trot, straight to the garden where I could almost see
her from the window burying the bone and stamping dirt over it. I went to garden to dig it up (I thought it
a waste of bone), but I could not find it anywhere. Since then I have seen very similar behavior
in another dog.
She would chase birds in the field, but never catch them. It
seemed to make her proud (or at least very happy) just to see them
scatter.
There was something nice about Shed that I never taught her,
which I now think is quite unusual. She
would only defecate and urinate in tall grasses. There was never – to my knowledge – a problem
with poop on the lawn at the farm. I
don’t doubt it happened but I don’t recall a single pile. I found out later, only with other dogs, that
urine leaves dead spots on the grass. I
think there were none – neither at the farm nor outside my 4-room dorm at SIU
where Shed stayed for 2 years. In her
later years this good habit ended, and as an elderly dog she would even poop
while walking – once, I remember, she dropped a load like a horse, as she
strolled passed someone’s picnic party.
Fireworks
Many dogs are afraid of fireworks, I know. But not Shed. You
could hardly restrain her when the sizzling, hissing, shooting, and explosions
began. She would lunge into a string of
firecrackers growling and snarling, and sink her teeth in if she could, and
then she would strut around proudly – you wanted to pin a medal on her. This came as a surprise and there were nearly
some accidents early on before I learned to tie or hold her.
Sleeping
Shed would wander pretty widely at the farm in her
prime. She’d often roam at night and
sleep much of the day under the kitchen table.
One morning she came in, took her place under the table and fell asleep.
Some time later she stretched and yawned, and when she opened her mouth it was just as if a skunk had squirted
in the house. In fact, one had somehow
shot neatly into her mouth during the night. Every time she opened her mouth it I was the same. I took her to the bathtub and washed it with tomato juice. That helped quite a lot.
When she would find and eat some carrion (yes, she had an
iron stomach) you would know it by the rumbling and gurgling from under the
table, and the moans (or were they sighs of satisfaction?). She would often run in her sleep – you could
tell by all four legs twitching, with little bursts of barking puffing through
her sleeping lips.
She slept soundly under the table, but her favorite place to nap was on
the picnic table just outside the house.
There she could keep one eye open for whatever interesting might happen.
Doorbell
Neighbors across the way claimed that very late one
night their doorbell rang and they found Shed on their front porch. Apparently she wandered across the road and had rung their bell. I was not happy about
the crossing the street part, but impressed by the bell. To my knowledge it only happened the one
time.
Kicked by horse
Shed was probably 5 and didn’t bark much, but she did enjoy
chasing horses and birds. One day, in
the corral, dad saw one of the larger horses catch Shed under the jaw with a
solid kick, and Shed flipped through the air and landed limp on the
ground. I was nearby and didn’t see it
happen, but came quickly. I kneeled over
Shed to check her injuries, and pressed my head against hers. She suddenly awakened, got up, and walked
quietly to the house. I don’t think she
bothered the horses quite so much after that day.
Lost in Rainstorm
One of the most impressive events occurred when I was asked by a family friend to watch his house while he was on vacation. Lou was an architect and the impressive house
stood on a hilltop across the highway in Bull Valley, more than 9 miles from the farm. Shed went with me, of course,
though I’m not even sure I told Lou that she would. She slept in the house but stayed outside
when I went to work – this was just something she could routinely be relied
upon to do. But, one stormy evening I
went out with some friends after work and returned home at 10:00 or later. Not only was I very late, but the storm was
heavy and it went on and on. Lots of
wind, in a heavy Midwestern downpour,
for most of the night. Shed was
nowhere. I called and whistled, and left
the door open (a nice overhang made this possible) and I left food out. I slept just a little as the rain fell and
Shed did not appear. I remember
listening to Leonard Cohen’s Ballad of the Absent Mare and I think of this
incident every time I hear the song still today. The song (quite beautiful) ends with the mare
appearing to the rider:
Oh the world is sweet
the world is wide
and she's there where
the light and the darkness divide
and the steam's coming off her
she's huge and she's shy
and she steps on the moon
when she paws at the sky
the world is wide
and she's there where
the light and the darkness divide
and the steam's coming off her
she's huge and she's shy
and she steps on the moon
when she paws at the sky
And in the early morning, while my grief was solidifying I
got a call from home: “Guess who is soaking wet and sleeping under the
table?” Shed had run all the way back to the farm in the dark,
in a bitter rainstorm, 9 miles, a on a route that she had traveled once, in a car, and to my
recollection she hadn’t been paying particular attention on the drive over.
Hit by car
I was in Mexico
Traveling
I did travel quite a bit with Shed, around the county, to
and from SIU, and on road trips.
Wherever I went, she went, for the first 6 years of her life. She would ride in the passenger seat, upright and alert. She turned quite a few heads
riding like that. At one rest stop I
recall a busload of Japanese tourists photographing her, very amused and
impressed.
Harmonica
I played the harmonica back then, with more enthusiasm than skill probably, and it was fairly unusual instrument in the day. I'm probably the only Shed had ever heard doing it. I and a bunch of friends were hiking through the Shawnee Forest once when Shed disappeared for a while and then reappeared, high in energy like something really cool had just happened. A short time later we came upon a small campsite with another group of guys and they shouted out "who plays the harmonica?" I did, I told them and they all burst out laughing. Apparently one of them did too, and Shed had charged up absolutely sure that it was me. They had read the situation correctly.
Sense of Smell
It wasn’t always apparent but Shed must have had an
extraordinary sense of smell, judging from the following event. I was visiting Jack in Maryland
SIU
I found an off-campus dorm at Southern Illinois University,
which I shared with three roommates who told me very clearly that they did not want a dog in
the house. I moved in without Shed in September and for the first Thanksgiving I went home and returned (with their permission ) with Shed for just the
few weeks until I took her back for Christmas vacation. Just before we packed up for the holidays, I
was approached by all three roommates who asked me if I would bring Shed back
to stay. It worked out wonderfully for
nearly two years. It only became a
problem when, a year on, one roommate graduated to be replaced by a someone with a feral, disobedient dog. He argued that he should
be able to keep his dog in the house too, so we had to allow it. But that was
an entirely different matter. Poop on
the lawn, saliva on the walls, mud all over, smells, and no obedience
whatsoever.
Perched on Fence
At Southern Illinois University in the late 70’s dogs were
tacitly allowed on campus, and I was able to leave Shed outside any building
with the command “stick around.” Here’s
where the training came in handy because “stick around” meant I would
reemerge eventually from the same door I had gone into. Even if I had not been in a particular building before I could trust her to hang around as I always made a point to exit the same door I had entered. She would not hover and worry, but would
wander and explore, and always close enough that I could summon her with my dog
whistle. One day, after lunch in the
Student Center, I came out to find a small group of students trying to befriend
her, amused that she seemed not to care about them whatsoever. She was never one to seek affection from
strangers. I was heading another
direction, so started off and gave a whistle.
Shed snapped to attention, full alert, but couldn’t pick me from
the crowd. Instead of running toward the
whistle, she turned and raced up a nearby concrete ramp and lept, at half-story
level, onto the concrete railing just like a cat might do. Then she saw me, turned and raced back down
the ramp and up to me. It was
exhilarating to watch, and she did impress and astonish quite a little audience
that day.
Animal Control
I would ride my bicycle to campus, about a mile, and Shed
would run beside. I never carried a
leash. Whatever class I took, she would
wait outside. She would busy herself
chasing squirrels and birds, wandering about, but she never went far. She didn’t care for other dogs so was not
tempted away, and she was indifferent to friendly strange people as well. One day I took my first karate class in the
Arena -- a large building on a different
side of campus from where I usually attended.
It was surrounded by mowed fields so there were no trees or squirrels
and -- for Shed – probably of very little interest. When I came out, almost 2
hours later, She was nowhere to be found.
I called, I rode around the vicinity, I whistled, I went home and got my
car and drove through campus, calling and asking about her. I felt terrible. My last resort was to call animal control on
the outside chance that they had nabbed her.
But she had had a collar with my name and number and no one had called, so I had little hope
about that.
Indeed, Animal Control had a dog that matched her
description but they said she looked sick and had nearly put her down. The dog they found was foaming at the mouth, as rabid animals do. When I heard that I knew it was Shed as she
had not been raised with other dogs and was nervous around them. She foamed and drooled and lost all self confidence. I rescued her immediately. It turns out that someone had removed her
collar.
Cold on a Camping Trip
One winter day at SIU I thought I would go on a solo camping
trip, so I set off with Shed to the Shawnee
Forest
Fleas and Tics
One thing that didn’t bother me as much as it should have
was the fact that Shed got fleas and tics when she was in Carbondale Illinois
Tucson
The longest road trip she took was with mom and dad, out to Tucson and I came down from the University of Washington in Seattle,
I believe we took her out to Tucson
another year, as I have a photograph which I think was from 1983, the year
Chuck, Deb, and I hiked the Grand Canyon –
Shed was not allowed in the Canyon of course, because of the wildlife and
burros. I don’t remember her on
that driving trip but she was so much a part of my life then that of course she was there. Only the photo proves it.
LATER YEARS
The Farm
I was not around much for Shed’s later years, but she
couldn’t have hoped for a better place to live than Pioneer Farm. She lived both inside and outside, enjoying
the warmth of the fire and the changing of the seasons. Mom and Dad, as always, were in constant
motion and – while they weren’t the same sort of buddy to Shed that I had been,
they were good friends and excellent caretakers. I understand Shed followed Mom, in
particular, wherever she went. It’s not
always easy caring for a dog and I will always remember their generosity toward
Shed, and toward me by taking her in.
Saw a Deer
She used to love to chase rabbits, especially from the hill a large grassy field away from the farm buildings. Apparently from that angle she could see them well and there was no shelter except the trees and shrubs way across. Off she'd go -- she'd give those rabbits something to think about, that's for sure but to my knowledge she never killed one.
Shed was not young when Dad and I were driving back along the trails, Shed in the middle of the bench seat in the cab of the truck, when we saw a deer. We were traveling 10 miles per hour maybe, but Shed shot straight over me, cleanly through the open window, stretched out in the leap like a deer herself, hit the ground and disappeared into the woods.
Shed was not young when Dad and I were driving back along the trails, Shed in the middle of the bench seat in the cab of the truck, when we saw a deer. We were traveling 10 miles per hour maybe, but Shed shot straight over me, cleanly through the open window, stretched out in the leap like a deer herself, hit the ground and disappeared into the woods.
Run over by tractor
Mom was taking a group of girl scouts on a wagon ride to the
Back 20 and Shed followed along as she did at that time. She was 14 years old. At one point she was distracted by something
in the road and was caught by the narrow front wheel of a large John Deer tractor. On this tractor the wide back wheels fell in
the same track as the front ones, and Mom couldn’t break until both wheels had
gone over. Miraculously, Shed got up and
returned maybe a half mile to the house, on her own. She was in no mood for a wagon ride with young girls. As it turns out, she had a broken spine and
her intestines had been pushed through her diaphragm. Mom and dad took her to the surgeon, at great
expense I am sure. She was repaired and
her mobility was only slightly impeded for another good three years.
Death
Shed died at the age of 17, much older than dogs her
size. I dug her grave outside the house just
where her picnic table stood while she watched – of course she didn’t know what
I was doing but the memory of that is burned in my mind. At that time I thought she looked OK, not
ready to go. But it wasn’t much later,
as I was in Athens
