Good old boys in Catahoula Parish developed the dogs to run in packs of three and pull down wild boar. Two are to clamp onto the back hocks, and the other onto the snout.
Probably the dogs draw straws for position, with the unlucky one drawing facing up to snout and six-inch tusks. The three of them try to wrestle the boar till the hunters catch up.
Our Catahoula dog, rescued by a local shelter, has other, mellower breeds mixed in him. He does get frenzied, though, when a Harley roars along our frontage. A hog, you see.
Blue was educated up and through Advanced Agility Training. He’s also a certified Therapy Dog, though a retired one now. He’s largely spending his golden years under the kitchen table, sleeping paw in paw with Simon the cat.
He doesn’t need his doghouse any more, and so Anne and I decided to put it into our part of the hamlet’s community yard sale. Most of our stuff was laid out in our double garage, but I dragged the doghouse halfway down the drive to display it. And that’s how Blue get mixed into gnomic culture, such as it is.
Blue’s never known gnomes personally. His closest encounter came on a long walk last year, when I had to yank him away from offering a neighbor’s gnome a three-legged salute. But now his departed doghouse will enmesh Blue right into the gnome tradition.
Towards the end of our yard sale, after we’d unloaded endless stuff that likely will be sold at the buyers’ next yard sales, the doghouse still stood by the driveway. But then up its slope came a stooped couple, holding hands and smiling gently. They could have been Gram and Gramps, stepped out through the frame of a Norman Rockwell painting.