While dogs may indeed be man’s best friend, they can also be his greatest enemy.
That statement also makes sense if you substitute dogs with: women, children, guns, football, poker, bourbon, bachelor parties or Mexican food.
But enough about the components of my weekend. Back to dogs.
I have recently gone nose-tonose with some dogs who certainly fall in the man’s greatest enemy category. These aren’t happy-go-lucky, lick-you-in-theface, always-happy-to-see-you, too-friendly-to-your-leg dogs.
These are riff-raff, rabble-rousing rovers, maliciously mad mutts, corrupting, conniving canines – the kind of dogs that give good dogs bad ideas.
If these dogs were human (a possibility), they would be street punks, hanging out on the corner, bullying 8-year-olds to give up their lunch money so they could juggle kittens and buy some spray paint to vandalize the nunnery.
I first came upon these doggy delinquents in my front yard, heretofore known as the battlefield.
A couple of weeks ago, I started noticing these odd patches in my yard, where it seemed something had been digging, tearing up major portions of perfectly good grass. I also noticed someone/something had knocked down my garbage can, littering messy refuse all over my driveway.
I figured it was the workings of our own dogs, or some other animal, or a UFO had landed nearby. Our dogs are pretty much inside dogs, though, well-fed and fairly docile. Of course, being a sane, realistic person, I decided it was a UFO and ignored it. But every day, there was a different spot in the yard where these mysterious varmints had dug into the soil. There weren’t really any distinguishing marks.
Was it a group of raccoons? A hungry ‘possum? A lost doe? Sasquatch?
Finally, one morning as I was getting in the shower, I saw them. There were three of them – two little black and gray ones, and one big yellow one – dogs all.
I watched them for a little while. Yes, here were my culprits. The two little ones were digging next to a tree while the big yellow one watched over them, supervising. I figured him for their leader.
After a few minutes of strategic analysis, I burst out of the bathroom and ran outside. As I ran out the door toward my newlyidentified El Guapos, I realized I was wearing nothing but a towel. It was 7:30 in the morning, and school buses were driving by with impressionable children as witnesses.
So, I ran out toward them, waving my arms, screaming. I expected them to jump up from their digging and haul tail like a bunch of scared dogs. But they didn’t.
No, these arrogant hounds looked up at the half-naked fool running across the yard and trotted off slowly, nonchalantly, very unconcerned.
Since then, every morning, it’s been a case of cat-and-mouse, or dogs-and-man, with the dogs having the benefit of not having jobs. Every time I wake up early to catch them, they wait until I’ve gone to work to do their business.
And, when I come home for a surprise attack, they’ve already done their dirty work, and are probably out stealing some unsuspecting dog’s water bowl.
I’m a beaten man – a man who has decided to let digging dogs dig.
Man’s best friend? I don’t think so. My vote now goes to Mexican food.
• Len Robbins is the editor of The Clinch County News. He can be reached at lrobbins@clinchcounty news
