A friend recently laughed that in a conversation with a city dweller, she said that in small towns we don't just know everyone's name, we know the names of their dogs. The names of three of my favorite dogs evoke memories that always make me smile.
My husband and I bought our first home in Fossil in 1975 while teaching at Fossil Grade School. Our next-door neighbors were Bob and Margaret Misener, and their English Springer Spaniel, Oscar. Oscar wasn't a spry puppy when we met him, but he was full of personality and those droopy eyes looking up could always earn him a pat and a treat. One day after school Margaret (Muggs) phoned and quickly said, "Please please tell me that you are missing a Dutch oven full of stew." I figured this was going to be an interesting story, so I went next door to find a nervous Muggs at the front door with Oscar, and someone's dinner of beef stew. The Misener house had about five or six pretty steep steps up to their front door, and somehow Oscar managed to carry the pot without spilling a drop. Muggs knew we loved Oscar, so she was really hoping his crime had been committed against us, but that wasn't the case.
Another Fossil food thief was Bigfoot, a black lab owned by George and Margaret Dukek. The Dukeks were widely known around the country for the field trial Labradors they had raised, and a former lab named Jake had actually been a National Champion. Bigfoot didn't fall into the champion category, but he was known and loved by the citizens of Fossil. He could have won any dogfight but wasn't interested. He walked with a swagger and his tail was always wagging. When a dog would try to antagonize him into a fight, Bigfoot just turned his head and continued on his way. And in the morning, his way was to the grade school where the kids of FGS had just arrived for a new day and were enjoying a few minutes of recess time before entering the building. Friendly Bigfoot would greet everyone and watch for brown paper bag lunches to be set down while the kids were off to play. The shout of "Bigfoot stole my lunch!" would often be heard.
You may remember a story from a couple of years ago in the TJ titled "Stealing Whisky" about another case of thievery...this time Jimmy Nickelsen and me stealing a Scottish Terrier, later named Whisky, from an abusive home. My mom, Nedeau Chase, was the secretary at Wheeler High, and she left WHS each day around 9:30 to get the mail. Whisky was supposed to be waiting for her on the porch of the school to ride downtown, and then get a ride home to our house on the upper end of Washington Street. Whisky would leave home each morning around 8:30 and travel on his little short legs to downtown Fossil to make his morning rounds. First, he went to the back door of the Loomis grocery store and butcher shop, where a scratch on the door always brought Rollo with a bone or scrap of meat. After a quick pat on the head, Whisky would settle in to feast on his first meal of the day. Then he made his way around the corner to the Shamrock where Floyd Zimmerman had just arrived to prepare the popular watering hole and eatery for the day. Another scratch on the door and Floyd found Whisky anxiously awaiting a treat left from the night before. Then the Scottie was off to the high school, with a full tummy, to meet Mom and get a ride home where he would enjoy a long lazy nap. But sometimes Mom left early, or Whisky arrived late. In that case she would find him pouting on the school steps with his face turned away from her. A bit of encouragement got him to hop into the car for the ride home.
Every dog, whether mutt or pedigreed, has a tale to tell, and countless stories have been told about heroic canines saving lives. "Lassie, is Timmy in the well?" always brings a chuckle from folks my age, and the mere mention of Old Yeller brings a tear. If you have a dog, take good care of them, and if you don't, offer a pat to the Oscars, Bigfoots and Whiskys you might meet along the way.
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