Our Snake Huntin' Dog

                My brother, Joey, loves dogs. Growing up, he was the only one in our family who regularly brought home stray, bedraggled dogs. All my siblings have dogs, and my sister-in-law is an advocate for animal welfare.  

                I never felt the need to have a dog because, quite honestly, I'm a little afraid of them. Maybe I was spooked when I was young, but I'm always a bit skittish when a dog comes around, especially a big dog.

                As my boys grew up and asked for a dog, I talked them into having other pets – guinea pigs, hamsters and goldfish. We managed to avoid dogs until our neighbor's dog had puppies.

                Our youngest boy fell in love with the puppies, and one look at our his tear-streaked face convinced us he had to have a dog of his own.

                We found a "Heinz 57" puppy, and Chris was instantly that puppy's faithful owner. All through grade school, Sparky slept right next to Chris, keeping watch over him.

                In high school, Sparky waited by the back door for Chris to come home and seldom left his side once he arrived.

                When Chris went off to college, Sparky's care fell to my husband, and he grew quite fond of that aging dog. I had to admit Sparky earned my admiration for taking such good care of my boy for so many years.  

                And when Sparky passed away, we cried for days.

                So when another dog came our way, I reluctantly let Channell into the house but I wasn't going to get close to this dog because she was a pet. I wasn't going to let her take advantage of the fact that she was a rescue dog.

                No lounging on the couch.

                No sleeping on the beds.

                No filching food off the kitchen table.

                Sure I patted her on the head and kept her food and water bowl filled, but I looked at Channell as my husband's pet, not mine. She seemed to sense my unease, and she's always kept a respectful distance.

                But all that changed this weekend.

                My granddaughter wanted to go swimming, so she and I changed into our swimsuits, grabbed some towels and headed to the back yard. Channell bounded out in front of us, raced to a spot behind the pool and began barking.

                This wasn't a friendly bark – she was sounding the alarm. She was circling and jumping around something in the grass, barking frantically the entire time. I got a little closer and noticed it was a big, coiled-up snake.

                I quickly picked up my granddaughter, took her inside and called Channell back into the house. She didn't want to leave her post, but when she saw my granddaughter, she came inside and stood next to her.

                When they were both safely indoors, I went back outside with my camera so we could identify what kind of snake was in the yard. But he was gone, scared off by the maniacal barking of our dog.  

                Never again will I gripe about Channell being a pain or a responsibility. That morning, she was our protector, and she saved us from possible harm.

                I went back inside, looked at Channell and she looked back at me with her trusting brown eyes. I scratched behind her ears, leaned down and hugged her neck.

                She wagged her tail, licked my hand and then plopped down by the back door, once again guarding us against any and all enemies.

                Channell has earned her keep for the long haul. And any time she wants it, a spot at the end of the bed.  

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.