When I was coming up, I had a dog, Prince. Prince was a beautiful collie with long delicate features and flowing majestic hair, the spitting image of Lassie.Today is Groundhog Day. That was my story to honor this day.
But Prince was a redneck, a straight up country dog with all the habits and hobbies of a country dog. He was perpetually infested with ticks—in his ears, throughout his coat, everywhere. (Being a country boy with all the habits and hobbies of a country boy, this didn't bother me in the least—I was, myself, not infrequently infested with ticks, though I personally preferred to remove mine before they reached the "plump as a grape" stage.) His lovely coat was matted and thick, natty with dreads. He roamed freely, sometimes disappearing for hours (or, on one distressing occasion, days) at a time.
He loved to chase things, sometimes small, nerdy boys; more frequently small, furry animals, particularly groundhogs. And he didn't just chase them—this was no mere exercise in futility—he would catch the groundhog at the scruff behind the ears, lift it up, and vigorously shake it back and forth until its neck snapped. Then he would gleefully prance about with it, proudly displaying his prize to all. Finally, he would trot off to some hidden cove and feast on it.
Once he found a nest of baby groundhogs. It was just like a Beatrix Potter story except if Beatrix Potter had been completely evil. It wasn't pretty.
Friday, February 02, 2007
Today is Groundhog Day. This is my story to honor this day: