Nettles

Great post. These are the stories that the dogs and the game are built upon. I can read these all day.

I bumped into my childhood best friend the other day and his dad is who turned me onto the dogs as a 10-year-old. When he passed last year, I had a day or so where the memories just flooded my brain. The other day we both sort of traded 'your Pops did this/said this' stories in the parking lot of a convenience story. Some dog related, some not.

When people talk about him that knew him most everyone would say, Howard was Howard, which translates to he had pissed off or disrespected most everyone he ever met but most seen his intentions were good and gave him a pass....called him a mofo or a SOB but, gave him a pass.

Willie was a young dog, maybe even too young. Toby was a three year old winning rough ass dog bred down from the Carver/Mayfield family of dogs (it's the late 70's). Willie was put on Toby to get him going but he would not start up like he 'should have'. This guy named Kenny rolled on Willie and really put sport on Willie, just overwhelmed him. So, this guy Kenny started talking shit to the locals about how he not only waxed Wille but Howard as well. He kept it going by trashing out the rest of the dogs on Howard's yard. No social media back then just word of mouth. One Saturday morning we were eating breakfast in a country story waiting for the sun to come up to go rabbit hunting when this other guy walks in and tells Howard Kenny was at a show last night and trashed him and his dogs. We hunted that morning for only a couple hours as something was itching at him terrible.

The shit talking had been going on for a couple months and in those couple months the young dog Willie had turned the corner. Howard loaded him up and drove to Kenny's house. He lived in a really nice neighborhood with his dogs in kennels in the back. Howard knocked on the door with Willie in his arms. Kenny opened the door and Howard told him the shit talking stopped today. He went around the house and into the back yard. He opened the gate on the dog that had whipped the shit out of Willie and tossed Willie in. Kenny was screaming WTF and Howard stood calmly by and let Willie do all his talking. The next-door neighbor was mowing grass. The other neighbor was washing a car and the dogs were in an uproar.

Willie was mashing the dog pretty good in just a few minutes and Kenny finally apologized and they separated the dogs. Howard said, "Open your mouth again and I will bring one dog of mine per kennel of yours and we will do yard vs. yard".

I always wondered why someone did not shoot him for his antics and how he managed to live to be in his 70's.

I guess the memory is that of all the times in my life I heard, "It is about the dogs" or "It should be about the dogs", I can honestly say I knew a man that everything was all about the dogs all the time. But more importantly he believed and lived that there is only one way to call something a bulldog.

When he got back home the first thing he did is tell me and his son that he apologized for ruining the Saturday morning hunt, but he would make it up coon hunting Friday night, rabbit hunting Saturday morning and then coon hunting again Saturday night and we could watch them roll dogs Sunday morning. I was like 12 or so and that weekend is what dreams are made of....

Babbling. Winding down from a rough night.

A quick explanation story of "Howard is Howard'. As a young man I went with him to a lot of places where old dog men would gather. He would hold court as he was loud and sometimes obnoxious, but always about the dogs. He was good for the dogs and great for the game. When we were leaving or on the way to leave so many times someone would say, (to me and whoever was with Howard), "Son, you are more than welcome to come back anytime you want, just don't bring that gray headed son-of-a-bitch with you!".

So Howard was Howard.

S

 

As much as he did for me and as much as I look back, I always see the good and the good times.

Although funny at times, Howard could be racist as all get out. He named back-to-back litters of puppies off the characters of the mini-series Roots. As a 10–12-year-old kid I guess I didn't understand, and I laughed when the older men laughed. Looking back, I can see where it should not have been funny at all.

One of the last times he was out I bumped into him in the grocery store parking lot. As we talked another older fellow pulled up that we coon hunted together with 30+ years before. We talked coon dogs and the good old days. And then.....

This white kid pulled up in a red Jeep Cherokee. It had 24's and a booming sound system. He got out with Timberland boots with no strings and the tongues hanging out. He had a pair of shorts down to his ankles with all of his ass and boxer shorts showing. He was holding up one side of his pants with a wife beater tank top. He had a number of gold chains, gold teeth, and a huge pair of gold sunglasses. He had little plait knots all over his head.

As he walked by Howard said, excuse me son, and this young man said, "What up, yo?.

Howard then said, "Son, I don't know who your daddy is but he ain't proud!".

My first thought was not of the racism, nor was it the humor. My first thought was this young cat is going to reach on the other side og those baggy shorts and start slinging lead without a second thought. Sort of the self preservation thought process.

The young kid simply replied, "Keeping it real, yo. I'm all 100", and kept walking.

Babbling again.

I sometimes think you have to sort of fucked to have these dogs over a long period of time anyway so odds are being fucked up over the dogs is usually not the only thing a person can be fucked up about.

If that makes sense.

S