Hick has no shortage of nicknames. Some of them I can even mention here! Seems like only the day before yesterday, Hick was The Horse Misterer. My mister who gifted me with horses, fake though they may have been, and costing a (disputed) grand total of one dollar or two dollars, plus tax. Now Hick is The Dog Whiskerer.
It all started on Memorial Day weekend. Our (favorite) neighbors down the road lost their dog. Lost, as in misplaced, not as in deceased. Val has a special place in her cold, cold heart for folks who lose their pets. She, herself, recently lost poor dumb Ann. And last year, she lost her sweet, sweet Juno. Actually, HICK is the one who lost sweet, sweet Juno, when he let her follow him all the way to the second low water bridge on the Gator, and didn't tell me until it was getting dark. So that also makes him The Juno Riskerer. We nearly didn't find her, crying in the woods across from the people who have a Great Pyrenees, next to the people who have boxer dogs.
So...these neighbors live down by the bumpy hill, and have a red barn that sticks out almost into the road. They also have a beautiful Husky that they keep inside. (Uh huh. And Hick won't even let me keep our long little part-dachshund in the house.) On Memorial Day weekend, the Husky figured out how to open the door (!) and went for a run. Up the gravel road, side to side, so many scents, such a treat to scamper to and fro!
"I seen it in our front yard, up by the driveway. I didn't know it was lost until Nabe came by on his 4-wheeler and said he was looking for it."
That's what Hick told me on Memorial Day. Then a few days ago, he told me the Husky got away again. We were talking about the most recent dead chicken, which was found in the Evil Poodle's driveway. EP has been kept pinned up, for tormenting the dogs that live behind his house. It was EP's partner in crime, No-Tail, who killed our other chickens, and he's been seen out of the yard lately. Anyhoo, that has nothing to do with Husky, other than dogs were the topic of discussion.
"Husky got away again. Nabe's wife had it out on the leash, and it overpowered her and took off. Nabe was riding around calling for it. It could get stuck in the brush, you know, dragging that leash. So I was done mowing, and getting ready to ride the Gator back over and park it, when I saw Husky. He was right beside the mini pony's pen, behind the chicken house, by my new woodshed, squatting down to take a poop. I drove over and jumped off the Gator, and grabbed his leash--"
"While he was pooping?"
"Yes, Val. While he was pooping. He couldn't run off! So I took him and carried him home."
"You mean in the Gator, right? You didn't actually walk down the road carrying him."
"No, I didn't walk. I was in the Gator."
"And he rode there? Husky? In the Gator?"
"I had his leash."
"So you held onto him? Even Juno won't ride in the Gator. She jumps out."
"I had his leash, Val. I rode in the Gator. Husky ran alongside."
Let the record show that Hick is not now, nor ever has been, associated with the Clark Griswold School of Transporting Leashed Dogs.
There you have it. Another of Hick's hidden talents. He whisks leashed lost dogs back to their loving homes. Even if it means those dogs might suffer from post-traumatic poop syndrome in the near future.