Grizz

Old Grizz dog stood about 20 inches high at the shoulders, his straight hair was of medium length, blue in color with flecks of solid black. Keith gave him to us when he was in his first year. One ear stood erect while the other flopped forward some. His ancestry was mostly Blue Heeler and Australian Shepherd crossed with German Shepherd. Bard and Derk, maybe Drannan too had sicked him onto their neighbor kids and he had chewed on them some. Keith snipped off his fangs but he still liked to grab strangers by the leg, causing many complaints.

At the time Keith brought Grizz over to us Randal was up in the hills checking his trap line. Grizz seemed to know our place was his new home and accepted all of us as his people, but when Randy showed up that evening with a ringed tail cat, Grizz about went berserk. He did not like the smell of things at all and some of us had to stand guard duty whenever Randy went outside for the next couple of days. But he finally decided Randy belonged there too and they became the best of friends. Grizz liked to play a "catch and hide" game with Randy, who would run and jump over fences and hide. Grizz would search and find him then chew on his leg when the game was over.

Whenever I scolded or spanked the kids Grizz would pitch in and help me by chewing on them so I had to stop the thrashing. He really saved their hides. He loved to chase birds around the pasture and could practically fly at a low level. He never seemed to tire, running effortlessly where ever the low flying birds led him. It seemed to be a game between him and the flock. The skunks soon became his prey and their stink power had no effect on him. Where ever he found them his powerful jaws would crush and shake them to death, after which he jumped in the pond to wash away the nauseating perfume. He crawled into pipes after them or any other place he could get into where they were.

He couldn't recognize size or ferocity in another dog. He challenged and fought all dogs that came his way. In the fray he was never defeated, nor did he quit. He loved to chase cats. One day he was up the street putting all the neighbors cats to flights and Judy Spencer's cat ran through their open door into the house for security, but Grizz caught and killed it right there on their front room floor. With our family cats, we would introduce them to Grizz and explain to him that these cats were "off limits" and he seemed to understand, and would leave them alone.

Our goats were in deep trouble if he found them out of their corral. A goat's leg was bit on and shaken just like a skunk. Several were badly lamed and one nice goat was so severely wounded she died. That made me really angry and I told Grizz he couldn't live at our place anymore and for him to "git" so he went down into Mrs. Sander's orchard. The next morning he was sitting by the door when I came out with a happy innocent grin on his face so I forgave him.

Squirrels didn't proliferate very much during his time. He would spend hours working to get them out from under a pile of boards or fire wood then grab them before they could get down a hole. More than once I had to replace whole sets of spark plug wires when he chased a squirrel into the engine of our truck or tractor.

In the course of time Keith gave us another dog that was of Australian Shepherd stock. Thick curly hair covered his neck and shoulders, and so it was his name. The two got along well with each other most of the time, but occasionally a fierce fight would take place with Curly always having to back off. I was Water Master at the time and wherever I went the dogs would follow. One day a cross bred Pitbull/German Shepherd ran out of his yard with the idea of putting Grizz and Curly to flight. His big deep bark and snarl was enough to make a Timber Wolf hunt his hole, but Grizz met him midway jaw to jaw and about that time Curly crunched down on his rear hock. In just a few seconds that big fierce critter was down on his back with Grizz and Curly chewing on the top side. His master came running out across the road to save his mutt from those two carnivores. Another time me and the dogs were over by the barn when I heard a lot of growling and chowing noise going on so walked around the saddle house to investigate. Mark Hare's pure bred Pitbull had a death hold on a big mouthful of hide and hair on the side of Curley's neck with Grizz chewing and crunching on the rear end of the Pitbull. That old Pit dog's eyes were bugging way out and as red as two cherries with pain, but all he'd do was try to shift for a better throat hold. It wasn't hurting Curly any, he just kept his head turned and pulling away so when Pit tried for a better hold he just lost position. Grizz was working and chow-wowing so hard that he tore out one of his pinched off fangs from the lower left side of his own mouth, and he was doing serious damage to the rear end of Pit. His master heard all the ruckus and came running just in time to keep his dog's back half from being digested. I held Grizz while Mark pried on Pit's jaws with sticks to make him let go. 10 or 15 minutes later his mental process reversed sufficiently to allow his jaws to open. Curly wasn't hurt at all but Pit's butt was a mess.

There was one time when Curly Dog's instincts would not allow him to participate in a fracas with Grizz. Judy and I, with Liberty and Victor, were traveling leisurely along an old road as it wound its way westward up the west fork of Browse Creek. The two dogs were in the back of the pickup and the time about 2 or 3 PM of an early fall day. We had a picnic lunch and fishing poles intending to stop in that grove of long leaf pines by the old ranger station and fish for trout along the stream. The roadway was lined with oak trees of the mountain variety and as we came around a gentle bend I caught a glimps of the hind legs and tail of a mountain lion as he jumped into the brush on the left hand side of the road. I stopped the truck at the place where the lion had crossed. Grizz jumped out and I said to him, "go get em Grizz!" He dashed down through the brush to the creek bottom and soon we heard this unusual strange barking such as we had never heard before. It was a loud yodel cry such as a hound might give who had treed its prey after a long hard chase. Scattered up and down the draw yellow pines towered above the brush and on the far side of the creek bottom I could see the mountain lion standing on a horizontal limb of one of those big pine trees. He was about 30 feet above the top of the scrub oaks looking down at Grizz who was still yeowling up that peculiar battle cry. Judy had fetched me my 30-30 and I took a fine bead and squeezed the trigger. The lion dropped off the limb in a standing position with his feet straight below him. The barking stopped and presently Grizz was there beside me. I'm somewhat aggravated at him for coming back. All the time this action is taking place Curly is crouched in the back of the pickup. No amount of coaxing by Judy can convince him to go help. He didn't want to have anything to do with a big mean critter that could tear him apart in short order.

I told Grizz to "go get em" again and away he went. Pretty quick that wild bay-bark cry comes from up the creek so I figured he had the lion treed again. There is only one bullet left in the gun and I knew it better do the job. I scrambled down through the high brush to the creek, then followed it upstream about 75 yards. There was old Grizz dashing back and forth on the bank so as not to be an easy target should the cat attempt to attack. A big lion sat on a rock in midstream growling back at him. I approached to within 200 feet or less, knelt down and took careful aim for his chest. At the crack of the rifle he dropped into the water. I called for Judy, Victor and Liberty to come down. When they got there Judy helped me drag the lion out of the creek onto a big flat rock. Grizz walked over, takes a sniff, then lays down nearby as if to say "that cat wasn't so tough after all." Victor and Liberty were about 7 and 9 years old then and veteran mountain campers. Liberty looked at him and said "a real mountain lion, I just can't believe it" then she looked at him a minute or two longer "a real mountain lion, I just can't believe it." She repeated that phrase several more times before and after we left to go on up to the old ranger cabin. She had heard lots of stories about mountain lions but never supposed she would ever see one out in the wild. Victor wasn't nearly so expressive as Liberty and was reserved in his speech until he got older.

We stayed up there in those cool pine trees until about dark. Coming down out of that rough country required an hours time so we arrived home about 10 PM. Randal and a couple of his buddies were at home trying to think of something fun to do. When Mom and Liberty told him about the lion they decided to go skin him out. Down along the creek in that thick timber is a boogery place to skin out a lion if you think a live one might be prowling around, so they dragged it up to the truck and hauled it down the road 2 or 3 miles to a safer place, a place where the nerves wouldn't be so jittery and cause a feller to cut his fngers with the skinning knife.

Grizz went on many mountain pack trips with us. He was always out in the lead checking on things and as we slept at night we felt safe with his protection. Through the years he mellowed some so he wasn't so tough on the barnyard animals. One day Grizz and Curly were having a difference of opinion, yeow-wowin jaw to jaw when Curley's fang hit Grizz's left eye and blinded him. From that time on his abilities went downhill. The mountain trips got too hard for him and he couldn't chase birds or cats very good anymore. Finally a car hit him on the blind side and killed him. He was a dog of indomitable courage. He never knew fear. He had the most infectious grin, the same as a mischievous kid. There is no dog that can fill his tracks.