Gary settled in as part of the family and life carried on but not quite where it had been before the Leavens moved into our shake shack. We always keep a piece of whatever happens and this time it was Gary and his little dog Spunky. She was a cute little mutt who not long after Garth took off with his family came in heat. Gary decided that he did not want any pups but this presented a problem as the Hill’s, who owned the Read Island Store and Post Office had a big old hound dog, Thunder by name, who wanted a piece of the action. The Hills lived about 2 miles to the south of us but not far enough to keep old Thunder from getting a whiff of something good and boy he didn’t waist any time getting to where the action was.
Gary came up with a plan to prevent the inevitable from happening and it required the old 12 gauge shot gun that I had used on the neighbors cat. Don’t get me wrong; he wasn’t going to kill old Thunder just put some scare in him. The plan was to remove all of the birdshot from a shell and replace it with salt. On second thought why not add a half-dozen or so birdshot back, just to give it a bit of a bite. Bad idea!
We are all in bed, it is 10 o’clock or later, everyone is asleep except Gary and he is waiting it out on the back porch. The minutes tick by, more time passes, at last a rustle, Gary sits up, more rustling, he puts the gun to his shoulder, finger pressing against the trigger, then old Thunder is squarely in the sights, and he squeezes the trigger. The noise is deafening, and we all wake up hearts pounding wildly. The howling is incredible as old Thunder heads up the hill behind the house as fast as he can go on three legs. And that’s the last time old Thunder ever comes courting out our way. His wounds all healed in time and the last I heard was that any time old Thunder ever got the whiff of a dog in heat he went howling under the nearest shed.
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