A Dog and Ducks

A Dog and Ducks

The year was 1965 and I had just mastered the fine art of swimming. That was a feat that meant new found freedom. What a glorious day it was. In this life, there are many peaks and valleys that we call growing in one form or another. Be it in size, heart, or mind, these growing lows and highs give way to what we call living. Learning how to swim was for me a giant peak. It meant that from that day forward I could go up and down the river on my own, well, the dog was usually with me, so really, I wasn’t alone.Father and Mother were always busy doing something to keep the business afloat; I think they call it work. It wasn’t easy for either of them to just drop what they were doing to accommodate me and my whims, so often I would fend for myself around the camps. But this newly acquired skill of swimming brought about a relaxing of the limit of my boundaries. I was allowed to venture a bit farther a field and that meant new adventures with much to explore.On one such occasion I told Mother that me and the dog were going to take the canoe for a ride. I was given strict orders to report back at such and such a time, and that I was not to venture too far away. Of course we came to an accord and it was away we went.Now then, the rule of distance should have been better explained. My perception of not too far away and my Mother’s idea of the same meant two different things. Even though I knew what she really meant, I agreed to the terms without hesitation.Lucky loved the water and he loved to go in the canoe with me. Come to think of it, he pretty much loved to do anything with me. I can close my eyes even to this day and see his expression and his actions when I would say “Come on Luck…less go fer a ride in the canoe.” He would jump and go it, round in circles the entire way to the canoe. It was as if he was trying to tell me to hurry up. The only thing that I know of that could fire up that dog more was saying to him “Lucky…see the squirrel.” I swear, I don’t know what kept that dog from blowing his heart right out though his side. And I can remember one squirrel being able to sense the dog’s excitement. The squirrel knew just how far to come down the tree and still be safe. So hour after hour day after day the squirrel and the dog would play. The squirrel on the tree trunk looking down at the dog chattering for all it was worth. The dog at the base of the tree barking and jumping up at the squirrel always falling just short of latching onto the little tormentor. I really believe that the squirrel looked forward to these encounters as much, if not more, than the dog.So it was me in the stern and old Lucky in the bow of the canoe and off down the river we went. Five minutes hadn’t passed and we were around the first ninety degree turn to the right and we were out of sight of home. First thing was first, out of sight meant I could light up a smoke with no fear of being caught. Smoking and me have always gotten along quite well. I know it is bad for you, I know all the terrible things about smoking. But I guess I was just bound to do it. For as far back as I can remember smoking has been a part of my life. Especially when I am on the river, there is just something about it that elates my inner self. Italways puts me at ease. My inner self would not be the only thing lit up if Mother or Father found out. My outer self, at least one part of it, would have done some glowing of its own, if they were to catch me. Father always had a way of making me feel lower than the scum on a snails belly when he caught me doing something wrong. Mother, well….she had a different way of dealing with my misdeeds. Thus I was always careful not to get caught. Actually, I was quite crafty in the ways I had of covering it up. I was even wilier in the ways I acquired my stash.Before too long we had made our way to Fred and Dora’s place. The shore was lined with canoes as it was during the heat of the day; fishing was not at it’s best at this time, otherwise, the canoes would all be out and down the river carrying folks to the good Salmon pools.Just past old Jack the Fish Warden’s place is a stretch I always called Bat Ally. And you would know why if you were to find yourself on that stretch when it was just coming dark. Bat Ally ran from Old Jack’s down almost to the forks where the North Branch and the South Branch of the Main Southwest Miramichi come together. It was on this stretch that we encountered a brood of Merganser ducks.They were floating along one behind the other following Mum down stream; staying close to the bushes so as to conceal themselves. The Merganser is a common sight there abouts, and they are not held in high esteem. In fact they are pretty much hated, especially by fishermen. See the darn things will eat their weight in fish every day. And anything that catches Salmon and Trout has a dim view cast upon it. Commonly they are called “Cussed ol Fish eattin ducks.”Even though these critters were too young to fly, let me tell ya, they could move when they had too. Once the canoe got too close for Mums liking, she gave the signal and they immediately got up and literally ran on top of the water. Their little wings looked like two windmills, and their feet going so fast you couldn’t see them moving. The water flew up behind them just like the rooster’s tail from a high sped speed boat, only on a smaller scale. They went until Mum felt the distance away was safe and they stopped and swam along normal.Now old Lucky had not seen them up to that point. When they exploded on the water with the sudden burst of speed in unison, Old Lucky went in two complete circles, and before I could say stay, he was out of the canoe and plunging into the water.Regardless of my concerned tone ordering him to stay, he went, full of determination to succeed in catching one of them birds. Now I knew that this doggie enterprise was ill-conceived on his part. There was no way that the dog paddle could come close to competing with the duck’s water run.As I continued to try and persuade Luck back he continued to beat and thrash the water in the direction of the ducks. I observed the ducks and I could tell that the new found water thrashing machine in no way caused any type of euphoric state for Mummy duck.Of a sudden, the little fellers up and took off again in an explosion of speed on the water. They went a ways down stream with Old Luck in his form of hot pursuit. He wasn’t gaining much on them. Then for some odd reason, Mummywheeled and like one of them jet boats at the races, she lined up on old Luck like some sort of high speed ballistic missile.She came to a ploughing stop just short of ramming the dog. Her wings spread out wide and her neck stretched out. She was one upset duck. She was a quaking real shrill like and thrashing the water in the dogs face with her wings. By and by she started flapping her wings on the dogs face and ears. She manoeuvred around behind Old Luck and then commenced stabbing him in the back of the head with her bill. After about the fourth strike Lucky turned and started back toward the canoe. As he turned so did the duck, still slapping his ears and stabbing him with that bill.This all seemed to go one for a lot longer than it really did. The dog closing in on the canoe the duck finally stopped, floated for a bit and kind of stood up on the water and shook, to get her feathers all back in place. Then she wheeled and took a short flight back to her kids. As she wheeled to leave I could have swore she stuck her bill in the air and seemed to make hummmph sound, as if to say “take that you cad!”Lucky was trying to claw his way into the canoe. I was coaching him the entire time. Seeing that he would need help I went to give him some assistance. Well sir, as my old buddy Unc would say “Ran you’re the clumsiest feller I know”, don’t ya know, I lost my footing and as Lucky came in I went out. Man that there water was cold.Now it appeared that Lucky was the pilot and I was the one watching him start to drift down stream. I was able to get up and wade to the canoe, grab hold of it and pull it to the shallows so I could take over the helm once again. Lucky made his way to where I was and decided to wash my face at the same time as I was pulling the canoe. Finally, I was able to get back aboard. My smokes were okay as they were in my little satchel still in the boat (we called a canoe a boat). So I threw out the anchor and lit up.After my smoke I turned the boat and started poling back up stream. Now I knew I was coming home later than the order that Mother had given me. But it didn’t matter much; she would get over it, just like she had to do most every time I went on one of my adventures.That was just one of many great days. Man I miss that dog. He was one of the good ones.

Saturday, July 17, 2010

RL Tex Smith