“Lucky, the Dog”

“Lucky, the Dog”

Any experience with dogs will give one some insight into their particular senses and potential. Some canines are actually highly acute animals with sight, smell and listening skills that are scary sometimes, especially when you own an animal with breeding or natural inclinations for herding, hunting, along with their special affinity for human company.

Personally, I have seen some dogs do things I could hardly believe, and to be perfectly honest… I still don't believe, even though I was right there to witness them.

Case in point: Lucky, the dog.

The day we saw Lucky, we were at a horsetrainer's barn, where he was putting our horse through some paces. I had noticed that there were several rodent's bodies here and there on the ground, and made the comment: “Are you poisoning rats out here?” to the old trainer. “No,” he said, looking down at one of the bodies. “That's Lucky. He hates a rat.”

Lucky? I thought. Must be a tough dog?

And when the man brought out our horse to the trailer to show us how it would load, we met Lucky. For a gray figure tagged behind the trainer coming out of the barn with our horse.

It was a large Australian cattle dog-commonly called a Heeler. They are called that because they have been used to herd cattle by nipping at their heels.

They do the same with horses.

For when the trainer was at the ramp of the trailer, he could not resist the temptation to show us his dog's skill.

He cued the dog and it came forward and nipped the horse's heel.

The horse loaded-pronto.

The owner called Lucky off.

And I took the opportunity to study Lucky.

He was an older blue heeler, with one leg gone, and I saw that one of his eyes was missing as well. I got the joke… Lucky, huh?

Then, he took our horse out into the pen and lounged it, going into circles on the end of a long line. Lucky sprang into action, circling outside the horse circle, even with the loss of a leg, non-stop-circling, circling. When the trainer stopped the horse, the dog stopped. When the horse was cued, the dog bounced along right into action.

The trainer stopped for a second to rest the horse.

“Out of curiosity, I spoke up: “Will the dog get the horse moving again?”

“Yes,” returned the trainer. “Can I see it?”

He cued the dog and the heeler moved in behind the horse and nipped a heel. The horse jumped and kicked back, just over the lowered head of the dog.

The trainer called for the dog to repeat and it did, until the horse started moving again after several more nips. The man called the dog off and it once again went into a circle outside the horse's inner one, like planets in orbit or a clock face with hands whirling around.

I stood there watching. There was something ethereal about the man, the horse, the dog. Something… elemental. The bond between the three of them had fallen into place. The man leading, the dog following, the horse obeying. The impact of that was imbedded into my mind.

Yet, it was later that same day that I thought it all had been in vain.

For, when our horse was put up, and the trainer was outside talking to my wife about her horse, I found myself alone at one end of the barn by the door.

Then, I saw Lucky-all the way down the long hallway, watching me with his one steely eye.

All of a sudden, Lucky moved in his three-legged gait. Then, he picked up speed… faster …faster …directly toward me.

At once, the realization hit me that the dog thought I was a trespasser and was attacking; to bite me, to rend me.

I yelled out: “Hey, your dog! Your… DOG!”

Lucky was half-way down the hall now.

“HEY… YOUR DOG… HELP!”

I fell back from near a stall, into the entrance to turn and run.

Only, it was too late and the dog was nearly on me, a gray blur rushing at me like a locomotive.

I raised my arm to guard my throat and braced.

The dog leaped.

My eyes closed and I waited for the pain to hit.

Only, there was a snapping sound, growling, loud and strong. But, I felt nothing. I was dizzy, for adrenalin had hit my bloodstream full bore. I uncovered my throat, dropped my arm and opened my eyes.

There, just to my side was Lucky, jaws closed about the body of a large rat, which had been right beside me in the hall, just behind the barn door. He was shaking the rat, whipping it around like a limp rag.

Then, after a few seconds, he dropped it to the ground. I went outside and got a breath of fresh air to clear my head.

And considered.

Lucky sure does hate rats.

Glad he doesn't hate Roberts.

By Robert L. Hall