Ranger, the lone dog: An uninvited guest with a wild side

A college friend stayed with us during the weekend for a little rest and relaxation. By the time she realized there was no time for either, it was too late. I had her so knee deep in pepper chopping and bottle-feeding calves she didn't have time to think. At least it wasn't chasing pigs like the last time she was here.

Ron, Beth and I were hanging out in the living room that night after all the kids were in bed. It felt more like an old folks home than it should have, but we were all pooped out. As we were discussing the show we were watching, we heard something.

"Was that a kid crying?" I asked.

"I think I heard it coming from outside," Beth said, none of us willing to move.

Ron got up and looked, saying it sounded like a coon hound howling. As he went to the door, he saw something under the yard light. He grabbed the gun and the flashlight muttering something about it being past 10 at night and our life doesn't seem to stop and the door slammed behind him.

Beth and I stayed on the couch. When Ron came back he said it was a coon hound, and we should get it up to the house and put it into the kennel. We could find the owner in the morning.

I'm sure we looked like the three stooges standing down at the end of our driveway trying to lure a dog into our vehicle with a piece of pizza after dark in our pajama pants, but that's Fairchild excitement at its finest.

Morning came, and as each kid came down the stairs, they got the same lecture: "Don't pet or take out the dog that's in the kennel. We are trying to find its owner, and if we fawn all over it, it will want to come back."

Each kid proceeded to eat breakfast, and one by one they went out to look at the dog, and take it out of the kennel and fawn all over it. By the time I got there, the dog was laying on its back getting the most attention it has probably ever seen in its life. The kids were trimming its nails, massaging him, laying on him and talking to him.

Then I saw it. ... He wasn't neutered. My dog heard the commotion and came out of the barn. I swear she could sleep until noon with a train going past her head.

We promptly put him back in the kennel and hoped he had a short memory. After all, a New Foundland and Coonhound? Yikes!

We made phone calls to no avail. Then we drove around to neighbors we hadn't called. We caught a neighbor rancher on the road and we asked him.

He shook his head with a smile and said, "Yes, it's so-n-so's, he lets it run between his house and his dad's place. He did have it tied up, but it would just escape and go to the other neighbor's and howl under their window at night." Followed by, "If I was a single man, I'd probably be howling under his neighbor's window, too."

We finally got a hold of the owner and he drove over to pick him up. "His name is Ranger," he said as he started to scratch the dog's belly.

Ron suggested a quick fix for Ranger's running.

"Suzanne has a sheep bander, and we could fix that in a hurry."

"Can't do that," the owner said, "it'd ruin him for coon hunting."

"How many coon did you get last year?" Ron asks him.

"Well, none."

We chuckled.

Until next week and tie up your pup,

Fairchild Farmgirl.