An Author's Best Friend

I Interrupt Regularly Scheduled Programming to Pay Tribute to Squatter

I live in a rural area where people go to abandon their pets. I’ve seen these sad, bewildered creatures too many times.

As I was driving to work one day, I saw a magnificent beast keeping pace with my car in a field adjacent to the road. It moved like a panther. I would have assumed it a wild or abandoned dog then, but it looked happy. It wasn’t chasing my car or even barking, but just enjoying his race with me. Don’t ask me how I knew he was happy—it’s a dog lover thang.

I forgot about that for a while, but I did see that Brown Bullet a couple more times. Then I forgot again.

My wife and I went on vacation one summer. At that time we had two dogs—one that had to be locked in a kennel when unsupervised; one that could be trusted to stay on our property while we were gone. Problem was, the latter dog was extremely jealous, territorial, and as he got older, didn’t get along with other dogs. We returned from our vacation on a dark night and our dog was waiting and whining a greeting, as usual.

With the Brown Bullet.

I wouldn’t put two and two together until later, after I’d seen him in the light. Right then, so far as I knew, my time was up and this was Cerberus (with only one head, but trust me: his one head is all he needs to drag you to Hades).

My wife saw enough of him that she was afraid to get out of the car. I did get out, suspecting that if that Big Brawny Brute decided to attack me, there was probably nothing, including his pal, our old faithful hound, that could stop him from ripping me apart and playing with my entrails.

Thank God, he kept his distance.

He somehow befriended our curmudgeon of a dog, moved in, and helped himself to his food. I gave him the name “Squatter” at that point.

In summary, I tried to run him off, but failed.

In broad daylight, he looks like a mailman’s worst nightmare. He is incredibly powerful. He bounds through the back 40 like a gigantic jackrabbit. I ordered another dog kennel online, put it together and locked him in it once. He tore through the high-quality (ahem) Chinese chain link like it was made of rubber bands. I have a couple ramps for driving ATVs or big lawn mowers up into the back of a pickup truck. Each one is a plank about three inches thick, eight inches wide, and eight feet long, attached to angled metal pieces meant to rest on the tailgate. I kept finding the ramps moved from where I put them. Then one weekend working outside, I saw that monster pick one up in those hyena jaws and play with it. Since he’s been here, I’ve been finding the skulls of other critters by my back porch. I think they once belonged to large coyotes or maybe other dogs.

Once while doing some chores, he snuck up behind me and licked me on the hand. Not long after that, I accepted that he was never leaving, and petted him. That was it. From then on, he was my dog and I was his human.

Our two existing dogs died. I started letting Squatter sleep in the house at night.

Based on what I know about him, I don’t think Squatter was actively abused; but I do think he was at least neglected. My specific theory is that, when he was a puppy, he was left tied up outside in a thunderstorm. Maybe even struck by lightning. He is a proven survivor, so I wouldn’t doubt it. In fact, maybe he escaped from that very incident and was on his own from that moment until he squatted on my land.

Sometimes it surprises me how much this hellhound is just a normal dog at heart who loves to do normal dog stuff.

Unfortunately, the decline in my health has shifted into high gear and I just don’t have the energy to play with him as much as he needs. Also, during my off time, I’m busy working on books of one sort or another. He keeps me company, but I’m not much company for him. After about a year feeling bad because he only has me (no remaining canine friends), I decided to get him a playmate.

I went to the pound and it was a heartbreaking experience. I’m really becoming a big softie. I wish I could have adopted all the puppies and most of the adult dogs that were there. Anyway, I brought home two puppies.

It is such a joy watching him romp around and play with his adopted siblings. He’s got jaws that can sheer through both of their bodies with minimal effort, and they try his patience often, but he is as gentle with them as can be. (He’s very gentle with me when I give him treats, too. He’s never nipped me out of eagerness.) He’s also fantastic with human children.

It’s kind of a perfect security team I have, here. His little adopted sister barks at everything but isn’t all that courageous. Squatter is from the Silent Death school. He doesn’t bark. When he’s feeling magnanimous, he’ll growl out a warning. I can’t think of anybody with the balls to ignore a warning from this Big Brawny Brute, either.

What I didn’t mention already is that Squatter showed up at my home shortly after I had suffered a tremendous personal loss—and was there with me when my other dogs passed away, too. It’s almost like God sent him to help me through an especially rough time.

The moral of this story is that dogs are awesome. No other mortal creature will ever love you as unconditionally. I ask God to make me as good a man as my best friend thinks I am. And I leave you with an anecdote passed down from Napoleon Bonaparte:

Napoleon was in exile when he finally wrote about this stirring experience. He had been surveying the carnage after a battle, the men lying dead in a field, when the dog of a fallen soldier approached him. Having gotten Napoleon’s attention, the dog ran back to the body of the soldier and licked his hand, and then ran back to Napoleon. The dog, clearly distraught, was beseeching him for help.

Here is that passage:

“Perhaps it was the spirit of the time and the place that affected me. But I assure you no occurrence of any of my other battlefields impressed me so keenly. I halted on my tour to gaze on the spectacle, and to reflect on its meaning.

This soldier, I realized, must have had friends at home and in his regiment; yet he lay there deserted by all except his dog. . . . I had looked on, unmoved, at battles which decided the future of nations. Tearless, I had given orders which brought death to thousands.

Yet, here I was stirred, profoundly stirred, stirred to tears. And by what? By the grief of one dog. I am certain that at that instant I felt more ready than at any other time to show mercy toward a suppliant foe-man. I could understand just then the tinge of mercy which led Achilles to yield the corpse of his enemy, Hector, to the weeping Priam.”