Funny story about how Oscar died. He was healthy, pretty young for a dog, and nothing seemed wrong with him. We got him for really cheap (or free perhaps) as a puppy from down the road a few blocks. He was a big dog; german shepherd, husky, and something else big all in one dog. He was a leaner too. You know, a dog that comes up and just leans into you for support, or to be closer to you. He used to play tag with foxes out in the fields. He'd chase the fox, they'd stop, then the fox would chase him, stop, repeat until tired. They didn't play after he got carried away, got the fox's tail, stopped, and the fox didn't. We may still have that fox's tail in the barn along with the fawn's head.
He could pull us like a sled dog as well, when we were younger, and there are a lot of nice pictures with us young boys curled up with this big tan dog. Not a lot of pictures of the cats really. I suppose they don't do as many interesting things, just a one tricky pony, cats. But dogs, they run and play, and learn tricks. They run down the dirt road barking at invisible enemies every time the car would start to pull in. Oscar had good hearing and we knew my father was coming home because he'd bolt down the road (all 300 yards of it) and be at the end to lead the way before the car even turned in. Heard it coming when it passed the neighbor's house, our old house, the one we grew up in. Every day he led the way, barking at nothing, scaring the killdeer off their nests. The killdeer would do that run where they feigned a broken wing to lure predators away from the nests, but no one was interested in the eggs. We used to scare the killdeer just to see how far they would lead us away, first inspecting the eggs, waiting for the day they would hatch and we could wonder where they all went to.
Similar to that was waiting for the goslings to hatch. Watching the mother goose vigilantly sitting atop her nest out by the pond. We new spring was really here when we could go out and watch the goslings swim behind their mother, round and round the little pond out back, every day a little bigger; until one day they were gone, jumped into the canal and off to grow big and strong, maybe to be shot by my Father one early winter morning, and fall dead right next to the pond they grew up in, payment for their brother's and sister's free rent in the backyard when they were younger, dinner that night for my family.
Anyway, Oscar went to the vet for the summer shaving, where he'd come back and his tail, once bushy and soft, became a whip and would go "thump, thump, thump" all along the house and sting your legs as he leaned on you. They put him to sleep, shaved him, and then set him in his kennel to wake up. He woke, had some food, went to play around outside, whipping the veterinarian's legs with his tail, then went back into his cage and died. Vet couldn't figure out why. He'd been through the same routine for years and no one could figure what happened. He was a bit big to burry in the backyard (back field really) where all the hamsters, guinea pigs, and occasional birds were, so the vet took care of it for us.
Miss having a dog. Never got another one. I named him Oscar after Oscar the Grouch, which has been recently considered too raunchy or a negative influence on modern kids. Poor Oscar, both of them. All we can do is watch the old VHS tapes to revisit them.
-Idaho Bob-
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