Thursday October 2, 2025 What's That Sound You're making? It's ...!!

 

Some visiting family members had brought their two large dogs with them while they camped in our yard awhile back.

 

I heard the male dog make a noise that sounded remotely like a someone trying to start a car, "Urr, urr, urr, urrr ... urr." 

 

One dog was a robust long-legged young boxer-like male; the other a very old female of the broad-backed gray muzzle set-with poor eyesight and doddering step, who according to lore, once had the disposition and ability to 'clean her young friend's clock and make him know it.' Hardly boon companions, they both were on long restraints that were anchored in the ground enabling a good deal of exercise for the younger boisterous one; not as much for the old one as she rarely explored its length, appreciating even less the frequent wrap-ups with her all too wild companion. 

I've had several large dogs in my life; huskies, hunting dogs, and shepherds. I know they need rigorous exercise to match their verbal expression of unbridled excitement, and this younger dog was no exception. My impatience with that type of behavior came to bear on each of my dogs until, through training (theirs and mine), I learned to 'communicate' in a less hostile manner so to which single words or gestures on my part became understood by all involved. Admittedly, I learned as much as they did.

 

Ed had special needs.

 After the unfortunate death of our last canine companion, 'Cubby', and her same senior-aged feline companion, 'Danni,' over ten years ago, we've had no four-legged friends dwelling with us, save for 'Sheldon,' an ancient miniature mixed breed dog, belonging to my wife's daughter, who is seen on rare occasion reaping some good fresh air during short sporadic runs in green grass for a few seconds. 

 

Pet care is a 24/7 activity, something, although admirable throughout the country, at our ages is looked upon as too much. Well, that's untrue really; I'm the one that looks at it as too much, Jackie does not (because I'd be the one who'd be doing it.) I remember it all, vividly. Every time I see some poor bloke grabbing a gigantic bag of dry dog food off the shelf in the grocery store, I'm thanking my lucky starts it ain't me. No dog dishes. No shedded hair. No trips to the vet. Heaven.

Oh yeah, off on a tangent again, sorry. So these two four-legged visitors really require no attention from me, by and large. I can appreciate them from afar and go on about my business, skirting the length of their tie-out area, and leaving all physical contact with them up to their parental units that accompanied them here that weekend. Still, I gave in once in awhile if I was up to it; throwing a toy for the younger dog; giving the senior citizen a good scratch where she appreciated it -- then forgot to wash my hands soon thereafter, because DUH, I am allergic to dog hair and saliva; I don't always remember until I try to resolve an irritation in one of my eyes, and it's then I remember why things are driving me crazy. "You forgot to wash your hands -- again!"

 

It's taken me forever to get to what I started writing about, so allow me to get right to it. I got into a tug of war with the younger dog and we get serious about which one of us was going to get the bigger piece of it as we pulled one another backwards -- and forwards, and in circles then took a panting/water drinking break, then got back at it, our eyes on one another. It was right about that time I heard him make a noise that sounded familiar to me, but wasn't a dog noise ... It sounded remotely like a someone in the distance trying to start a car, "Urr, urr, urr, urrr ...urr." 

 

I'm sure you all have heard a dog make this noise. Think a dog pulling something with its teeth clenched on it, its back and front legs splayed for traction. The dog is yanking its whole body backwards trying to break your grip; shaking it now, pull, pull, pull, shake shake shake, "Urr, urr, urr!"

"Hey," I sez to him, not stopping the game. He looks expectantly at me with his closest eye to me. I sez, "What this noise you're making? This Urr urr urr stuff! It reminds me of something, kinda sinister... But what?"

We take a break, neither of us the winner, neither the loser. The dog retires in his corner. I go to mine. Grab a beer. "What is that noise I'm hearing that he's making?' Urr, urr, urr, urr, urr ..." We get back at it. Pull, pull, pull --PUSH! That surprises him! he almost falls backwards, but never lets go. Hey, I'm careful. I don't want to hurt him. Who would I have to play with?. He tired me out. We quit for the night. I remember to wash my hands.

The next day, the dog hasn't forgot our bout. He finds a toy in better condition that looks like Daffy Duck 'specially when its stretched from stem to stern and its eyes bug out. It doesn't quack anymore, its squeaker's gone. Soon enough let's call him 'Hank,' starts his starting-engine noise,"URR, urr, urr, urr ... " And begins to pull, pull, pull, shake, shake, shake. I don't know if I can do this any longer. 

 

If we were both large dogs, according to the internet, he'd be 28 at 3 years old; and I'd be 13, at 72 ... Well add a little bit, those who know I'm 74. Okay, nearly 14 in dog years... Hey, this is science! No more of that 1-year of our age is 7-years dog age stuff.

Nearly at wits end, Hank makes that noise again -- and my old brain finally identifies the Urr Urr Urr noise as sinister indeed, 

 

It's ... my old nemesis, Phil, The Pheasant!!