In the eyes of The Golden Trigger, their are three types of canines. There are working dogs, pets and those who bridge the gap between these two extremes.
My father, being a sportsman, owns two female pointers (Penny and Dixie) that live in a lot behind my parents home in Roaring Gap, N.C. Our family's two black labs (Hugh and Luke), who were great natural talents acting as stand-in retrievers on duck hunts in our swamp in South Carolina, live between the backyard and the house.
My adoration for these four purpose-serving quadrupeds is immense. I honestly know of no more beautiful sight, than Dixie backing Penny on point at the Fourth Creek Game Preserve in Statesville, N.C. The "girls" provide me with the means to spend time with father doing what I love the most. Likewise, there is something about our near-decade old "boys" lying by the fire that always validates my love of our home.
However, after my beagle Susie (that was given to me when I was two) died and I moved off to college. I missed having an honest and genuine pet. For me, a pet tends to be a very special thing. Like art, a pet serves no function but to exist in itself and to please. So after my sophomore year at the University of South Carolina, I made the decision that I had to have a dog.
My parents were justifiably furious. And I was consistently warned that taking a dog in only to ship it off to the pound can be rough on an animal. But my mind was made up; following the logic that if I had to take care of some other living being, it would force me to take better care of my self (understand I was a naive 19 at the time).
I spend the summer looking at breeders and trying to figure out what type of dog I wanted. At first I wanted a lab, like any southern boy. But the more I thought about it the more I felt my life as a southern man was becoming too cliche. (Keep in mind, at the time I drove a dime-a-dozen white Tahoe and I still live between Sperry's and Toni Llama's) So the lab was out. Then I wanted a husky. But having a husky in South Carolina seemed torturous and cruel. So I settled on a great dane. They were majestic, low energy, short-haired and, perhaps above all, I was convinced that women love them.
My junior year was set to begin and I still had no dog. The main reason being the tremendous expense the comes with buying a dane. My roommate Todd had however decided that he wanted a pug; surprisingly for the same reasons I wanted a great dane. We decide we would both buy our dream dogs and name the pug, Harley and the dane, Tux. However, before either of us got out our wallets we decided to go check out the local shelter.
The previous year I didn't have time to do any actual volunteer work, so once every week or so I would drive out to the shelter and walk or play with the dogs. Sure I had seen some adorable pups, but none that I ever had to take home.
On this particular visit however, one caught my eye. She was a dark tan with white socks and looked like some kind of mixture between a boxer and a lab. Todd and I both browsed on our own for a while before he approached me and said he couldn't see himself having a dog at the moment.
He was in turn shocked when I immediately responded, "I'm taking this dog home with me."
"Are you sure," he said.
"Absolutely," I responded.
"Okay," Todd said (I should point out that Todd is the kind of guy who always has your back).
While I was standing there, looking at this pathetic little mutt I had an epiphany. No matter how I try to present myself, as an American southern man, I too am a mutt.
The truth is, we were entrusted with control over this world and all its life forms by our creator with the stipulation: if we take care of her, she will take care of us. As I look around today it seems like in a several areas we aren't holding up our end of the bargain. Now The Golden Trigger is by no means a forum for eco-babble ranting, however I believe social responsibility fits into the lifestyle of southern gentleman well. It just seemed that perpetuating the puppy mill system, while there were so many dogs in that particular shelter seemed irresponsible.
Beyond not needing another status symbol, in that dog I saw something that was missing from my life. The sportsman is absolutely in need of a pack to serve him in the field, and is therefore bound to canine ownership. However beyond this functionality and necessity, he likewise needs a companion.
I named that dog Massey, after a Massey Fergusen tractor my grandfather ran over about a dozen dogs with over the years. I've now had her for about three years, and I couldn't imagine a piece of paper regarding her bloodline could have made her any better.
The Golden Trigger wouldn't otherwise be used to push any type of social agenda, but I have been in Wyoming for about a week now and this morning I went with my brother-in-law to take two mares to the sale pin in Fort Collins. Apart from missing Massey (since she is back home), knowing what happens to a lot of horses at auction forced me to think about how the true sportsman and southern gentleman handles his responsibility to take care of this world, and all its living creatures.
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