To Thwart or Not to Thwart

      Rudy and Bandit are fun-loving rat terriers who own this farm and its people. Rudy’s the one most eager to chase off animal intruders. Bandit waits and watches with patience should Rudy attack a rabbit, a bird or even a snake. Bandit hopes for a small gift of Rudy’s rare treat, but barking is his form of guarding.

I'm Rudy

I'm Bandit

     One day in April while I worked in the greenhouse and the dogs guarded the entrance, I heard the hissing caw-like snorts of a frightened deer and the frenetic barking of a dog—mine. I ran out to see Rudy charging a swaggering newborn fawn, trying to position himself to pounce for the kill. The doe tried to run interference, stomping and jumping at Rudy.

     I shouted, “No, Rudy. Stop!” 

     Then I leapt into the fray brandishing my arms. Frantic doe lunged at barking dog. Obstreperous dog snapped at stumbling fawn. I flailed at the dodging dog. Finally, I got him by the scruff of the neck and his collar and pulled him, straight-leg resisting and confused, to me.

     Once I had him, I ran. I ran and pulled, grabbing Bandit with the other arm.

     Sprinting uphill over fifty feet—hunched over with arms tugging behind me like burly ropes—mystery legs got me all the way up through grass and gravel onto the porch and into the kitchen before letting them go. I slammed the door shut.

     When I rushed back out, I could barely discern the doe nosing her tottering fawn deeper into the woods. Whew. I had thwarted an unbearable murder. I collapsed in the grass and studied clouds as my adrenaline cooled. I was so pleased. 

     Later in the spring, when the pair came back out of those same woods behind the greenhouse, the fawn was no longer spotted. The now fearless duo ambled silently into our grassy lawn nibbling clover. The doe looked up with delight when she spied the (fenced) vegetable garden.

     “Look,” she must have said. “Remember the long-armed woman who saved you from that vicious dog? Now she’s set us a fine buffet.”

     From flat-footed, they jumped right in and delighted in the spinach and lettuces. Doe taught fawn how to pull beets out of the ground, nibble bean and potato plants down to the soil, and top out snap dragons, tulips, and budding hydrangeas. They grinned and showed their foraging teeth as they progressed to blueberry bushes and blooming fruit trees. They soon invited friends and relatives. For years now they have had all their family reunions and community events here at this lovely venue where barely an herbaceous effort goes unnoticed.

     Now, spring is coming round again.

     Bandit and Rudy spend their days on the back porch stretched out in the sun getting warm, growing fat. Mostly, they watch with amused curiosity as their people go to great lengths to run off deer: installing motion-detector sprinkler systems, hanging domes of dried blood on carefully placed shepherd’s hooks, and spraying rank coyote urine around garden perimeters. They dangle bars of herbal soap from tree limbs, place the hair of large predator dogs from a groomer around shrubs, and spray plants with hot pepper and garlic sprays.

     Rudy may not remember being thwarted about anything, but he now agrees with Bandit on several matters. Barking is enough; the garden smells bad enough that it doesn’t need protecting, and there must be a bigger dog around here anyway, so we can relax. It’s a dog’s life.

Rudy relaxes in the sun.

Bandit takes a bow.