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After school, Steve would go to the kennel and get Tommy Dog, put him on a leash and start the lessons. Steve kept Tommy Dog close and tight on the leash at first. A stern command of “Heel” when Tommy Dog’s nose would catch sent of a rabbit or something and Tommy Dog would start off in another direction pulling hard on the leash.
Off they would go up the hill above the house, to a sloping grass field to sit and brush Tommy Dog. Steve’s pocket was always full of special treats for Tommy Dog. The key to real obedience training, but the treats really didn’t compare to Tommy Dog’s reaction when given words of praise and a good scratch behind the ear for a trick or stunt well done.
Steve’s new home was built on what the old timers called Tarantula Hill. There were not as many as the old stories would have you believe, but it was not at all unusual for Steve to locate two or three on any hot afternoon if he felt like looking for them. They were fun to play with. Not as menacing looking as a garden spider. Big, almost clumsy in appearance, Steve would catch one in a jar, look at it for a while, and then let it go. He never got a single bite. But the Rattlesnakes, now that was a different story.
During the summer it got hot. An old friend of his father told Steve about the time that it got so hot, the cows were dropping dead in the pastures and the Palm trees were actually drooping over; the temperature a recorded high for the nation in over one hundred years. He even showed Steve a picture.
Now I’ve got to stop right here and tell you the story about this man, this friend of his father. He was an architect, a Mexican by heritage. He designed an entire Dutch town, and it’s still there to this very day, its called Solvang. His name was Romeo Ortega.
Yes. Romeo as in Juliet. No kidding, and he was a very handsome man on top of it, with jet-black hair and a firm jaw. He even had sort of smoky, deep brown Spanish eyes. He could have been a movie star. He was very popular with the ladies in town all right.
Anyway, he told Steve a story he would never forget.
Seems there was this guy who would steal luggage from cars that people parked in the parking lot while coming and going at the local airport. They could never catch this guy in the act. They knew who he was; it was a small town. So Romeo and three of his friends trapped a bobcat and stuffed it in a suitcase.
I knew you were going to ask that. Steve asked Romeo the same question and never got a straight answer. All Romeo would tell him was that took all four of them to get the cat in the suitcase. But he would always smile when he talked about it and it seemed that there was another story behind his words, but Romeo never said.
So they put the suitcase in the back seat of a car that one of his friends borrowed from another friend from another town, so the guy wouldn’t recognize the car. Then they parked the car in the parking lot at the airport; far away from the terminal where they knew he would pick it up.
Sure enough, on that very afternoon, this guy nabbed the suite case, put it in the back seat of his station wagon and sped off down the road never expecting the surprise that waited for him.
The story goes that when he got a few miles down the road he pulled over under a nice shady tree to check inside the suitcase to see what he scored.
He got into the back seat of the car and excitedly opened the suite case. He popped open the locks and lifted the top open. What he saw was fur. The bobcat was too scared to move at first and the guy wasn’t sure if what he saw wasn’t an expensive fur coat. But within seconds there was a very frightened and angry bobcat barking and hissing and running around inside this guy’s car all over the seats, bumping into the windows and tearing the hell out of his new leather upholstery looking for a way to get out. It was running into the car windows trying to get out because it couldn’t see the glass. That just made the large cat dazed, confused and even angrier.
Now having been confined inside the suite case on a hot summer’s day, the large cat smelled really bad and as it ran around the car it would leave small deposits of piss and smelly shit every where he went.
In all the confusion, this poor guy couldn’t open the car door. He began to panic. He was stuck in the back seat. So he tried to open the window, thinking the scared cat would jump out, but the window wouldn’t roll down fast enough to get out of the way of this bobcat literally running around the inside of his car. And in the process the bobcat put a few deep gashes in this guy’s shoulders and back on his way around the inside of the car.
It took what seemed like forever, but he managed to finally get the door open and roll out of the car. He left the car door open, but the bobcat was so scared that it continued to run around and around the inside of the car because it was going so fast that it didn’t see the open door until it had made shreds out of the leather upholstery.
He said the bobcat wouldn’t leave the car for almost half an hour! He tried everything he could think of from the outside of the car to scare the bobcat out the open door. Of-course, that just scared the bobcat even more, so it just kept running around and around the inside of the car leaving deep gashes in his leather upholstery and more little piles of smelly shit and piss.
Anyway, this guy would tell his story about this large, angry bobcat and how it managed to ruin his brand new leather seats and how he could never quite get rid of the smell inside the car from the big cat. It was a very funny story that made it to all the bars and coffee shops in town. And of-course Romeo loved to brag about how that poor guys’ face must have looked after he opened that suite case and discovered the big cat. “That dumb Mexican won’t ever steal any more suite cases.” But probably the funniest part of the story was that this guy was never seen around the airport, stealing peoples’ luggage again.
Now that’s a funny story and knowing Romeo, it is very probably true. But back to Steve.
It really would get hot. Sometimes the temperature got over one hundred degrees. That’s just perfect for hunting Rattlesnakes. The mornings start out cool and moist. Steve would set out early so he could get to spots discovered on adventures with Tommy Dog.
Tommy Dog was not allowed to go on Rattlesnake hunts. Steve never wanted to take a chance of Tommy Dog getting hurt. Truth was, Tommy Dog had more sense than Steve did. Tommy Dog would never have gone anywhere to find a Rattlesnake. Rabbits and Deer, now there is another story. Tommy Dog would run for miles chasing them.
The trick Steve figured was to get out early and catch the snakes sunning themselves, before the scorching noon sun would drive the Rattlers into a search for shade. Armed with nothing more than a forked stick retrieved along the way, Steve would place the fork behind the snake’s head, pinning it in place. Then, with very careful skill given only to a boy who knows nothing about what he was doing, or even the danger he was placing himself in, Steve would cut off the snake’s head and put the headless snake in a burlap bag he had brought along.
Later, Steve would carefully skin the snake by pulling the skin over itself, inside out, down the entire length. Steve would pour salt over the moist skin, and then attach the skin to a flat board with nails, carefully stretching it out flat. Then place the board on the garage roof to dry. The dried skins made great belts and hatbands, and the rattles where a valuable prize. The more rattles, the older the snake. Most of the snakes Steve managed to get had only five or six rattles.
Sadly, Steve never ate any of the snakes he caught. Steve did get to taste a rattlesnake brought over by a neighbor. Steve said Rattlesnake tastes pretty good, but not like chicken. Rattlesnake tastes like snake. The meat looks like chicken. Except it was rolled up in a circle on the plate and you had to pick the meat off the long round spine.
Somehow, Steve managed to avoid getting bit by a Rattler when out hunting for them. But he did get a good “strike” on his boot one afternoon while hiking with Tommy Dog. This snake was large; maybe twelve rattles. The event was startling to both Steve and Tommy Dog.
After creating some distance in the opposite direction from the snake, Steve removed his boot to look for a skin break. Outside of two small holes ankle high, the boot was in great shape and Steve found only two small bruises on his ankle and it hurt. Tommy Dog licked Steve’s ankle for good measure. Now Steve understood the value of “High Top” boots.
Remembering the number of rattles, Steve and Tommy Dog went back to look for the snake. Tommy Dog sniffed the area, ran around a couple of bushes and boulders and barked once or twice at Steve, but no trace of the snake. Twelve rattles, now that would have been a real trophy to brag about.
Up, over the hill just behind the house, was an old reservoir at the bottom of a small gulch. It was used to water the Avocado orchard in the canyon below. Steve loved to hike around the valley bottom, following the creek up the canyon until he could see the top of the gulch where the reservoir was located.
Climbing off of the huge granite rocks along the creek into the brush and up the side of the hill, Steve and Tommy Dog would sneak up quietly. Carefully, trying not to snap a twig or crush any dead leaves giving away their approach. Of course, Tommy Dog had never read about Indians and how to stock your prey. So Tommy Dog wasn’t very interested in how much or little noise he made.
Tommy Dog led the way, up the hill and between the brush and sharp thistles. Tommy Dog’s head would dart from one side of the trail to the next, sniffing the ground and occasionally his nose would disappear down some small hole that needed to be investigated. Tommy Dog always stayed close to Steve. He would run ahead, sometimes out of sight, but return often and bark at Steve as if to tell Steve to hurry up.
As Steve and Tommy Dog got close to the reservoir, Steve told Tommy Dog to heel. Then he attached Tommy Dog’s leash, keeping him close by. Slowly, and this time a little quieter, they creped up the hill. Steve kept low behind the bushes as the reservoir came into sight.
This time Steve and Tommy Dog got lucky. A Deer was drinking water at the far end of the reservoir. Tommy Dog didn’t see the Deer because he wasn’t tall enough to see over the bushes. So Steve picked up Tommy Dog and held him high enough to see the Deer. Tommy Dog went stiff as a board, as his nose searched the air for a scent of the animal. But there was no breeze. Tommy Dog whined and squirmed to get down and start the chase. That was why it was so important to keep Tommy Dog on a leash. He’d take off running after that Deer until he dropped. Such was the nature of a Beagle. Especially Tommy Dog.
Tommy Dog’s whine and squirming to get down caught the Deer’s attention. Its head instantly coming up to look in Steve’s direction, his ears up sharp and directed toward the sound. Still chewing, the Deer watches for whatever animal that is making the noise; water is dripping from his mouth.
Steve crouches behind the brush and calculates his next move. It has been a long time since he spotted a Deer here. Steve tugged on Tommy Dog’s leash and whispered, “How close do you think we can get?” Tommy Dog looked back at Steve, but didn’t offer any advice outside of an impatient look of excitement. “You’re no help. Let’s go. And be quiet.”
Steve’s whispered command was all that Tommy Dog was waiting for. The leash sprang from the ground as Tommy Dog bolted to the end of the leash. Hind feet digging in and pulling Steve up the trail. Staying down low, Steve is running behind Tommy Dog, and the plan to keep quiet is replaced with the immediate task of keeping up with Tommy Dog.
The brush was thinning out as Steve’s head began to appear above the reservoir dike. Just in time for Steve to see the Deer running up the backside of the small gulch and over the top. Tommy Dog increased the pace as the ground flattened out. Pulling hard on the leash, racing to the spot where the Deer had been drinking the water, Steve had to pull back on the leash or be dragged up the mountain.
When they reached the spot where the Deer had been drinking, Tommy Dog raced about sniffing the ground and barking. This was all very exciting and it was easy to forget that you are standing on the edge of a reservoir. While running around, Tommy Dog had gone behind Steve, thereby setting the trap.
Picking up the scent of the Deer, Tommy Dog raced toward the hill, pulling the leash tight, around Steve’s boot. It was very grassy and wet where Steve was standing, and he went right into the water, back first. Boots over his head in a backward somersault splash, naturally, Steve let go of the leash.
Steve came up for air; his boots had already filled with water, making it very difficult to kick hard enough to keep his head above the water so he could breath. The water was cold. What’s more, the bank was steep, not flat like the ground above the water and it was slippery and while kicking hard Steve could not find any rocks to get a step on to help push him out of the water. So there was no way Steve could find firm footing in the slippery mud. Almost in a panic because his boots were so heavy, Steve grabbed for anything, grass, roots and branches. But everything Steve got a hold of either came out of the ground or snapped off.
Steve moved a few feet to his left and got a hold of a branch from a tree hanging over the water. Just before Steve grabbed the branch of the tree, Steve looked over his right shoulder for a split second just in time to see Tommy Dog reaching the top of the hill, his leash trailing behind, and bolt out of sight over the hill after that Deer.
Steve kicked as hard as he could and grabbed the overhanging branch. He pulled hard on the tree branch and braced his boots against the muddy side and pulled himself out of the green murky water. His boots were filled to the top with water and they made a funny sloshing, squishing sound when he walked.
Now the first order of business was to remove the boots and empty out all the water. Then take off all the clothes to wring them out and examine the skin for leaches. That’s what he did. All accept his underwear.
After examining for leaches, Steve figured that since the high mountains surrounding the reservoir hid him, and the sun was about high noon and very hot, that he would take his underwear off anyway and enjoy the hot sun. Until his clothes were dry enough to put back on.
Another wonderful summer day; the temperature in the high eighties, Steve set out his pants and socks to dry in the hot sun on a rock near the water, and hung his shirt over a branch on the tree that saved him from being swallowed by the reservoir. His underwear went on the rock right next to him, just in case. Now that the adrenaline rush had slowed down a little, Steve started laughing at the whole event. “It’s just like that damn dog to pull something like this.”
Tommy Dog showed up late that same night, his leash still attached. Dirty, smelly, hungry and wanting to be let into the house, Tommy Dog danced and barked outside the large sliding glass living room doors on the patio. Tommy Dog was happy to be home and he wanted everybody to know it. Tommy Dog just kept on dancing and barking the entire day’s adventures. As Steve put Tommy Dog back into the kennel along with a bowl of Kibble and fresh water, he listened to Tommy Dog account for each exciting adventure, including the one that contained this wonderful smell he rolled in just for Steve.
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