Old McLarsen had some Farms

Chapter Nine: A Kangaroo Dog?

Once upon a time, there was a fairy tale about an ugly duckling that turned into a swan one fine day. Hans Christian Andersen wrote that. Once upon a later time, there was a true story about an ugly dog that turned into a hunting heroine on many moonlit nights. She was Trixie, the ugly Kangaroo dog.

Sam and his family owned two dogs. There was Lassie, the home dog or guard dog with such an original name - but of course, what else could she be named when she was SO true to her type? Lassie was a Scottish Rough Collie - a tall laughing girl, who loved the world. At first glance, and the sound of her warning barks, strangers assumed Lassie to be a well-trained guard dog. Visitors would rapidly learn quite the opposite. Lassie was yet another animal who loved the world with a passion.

The other family dog was deemed unlovable in the traditional sense. Trixie was a Kangaroo dog; a little-known breed along the same racing lines as a Greyhound but three times the bulk, commonly mistaken for a Great Dane.

"Now here's a curiosity," I say, my mind moving into overdrive. "I'm thinking about Trixie's strange mixture of colours - almost stripes, but not quite. I can't think of the word to describe her motley markings. Everybody always says a tabby cat - and a dappled horse... "

Kanute purses his mouth and considers the problem. "Yes-s-s... and a piebald pony. Except their markings are usually a whole lot clearer and sharper, aren't they?"

I nod and it's my turn to think some more-you can almost hear the cogs clicking into gear.

"... and everyone says a speckled hen. And... uhr, oh what's it called? It's dancing on the tip of my tongue... I know - brindle - that's it!"

An unattractive black and tawny yellow brindle, that's how Trixie's coat was. Poor girl, her ugliness meant that her sole reason for being a member of the family relied on her unmatched talent as a successful hunter. She was a vital inclusion on shooting trips, and so all else was tolerated... barely.

"She endured much for those few short times to shine - didn't she?" We both feel sad, remembering the deeply dug-out area around her kennel. It had been worn down by her constant pacing back and forth, to the limits of her heavy chain. This was not the way we believed animals should be kept - under any circumstances.

"All she asked was for a hand to be laid just briefly on her head, with a 'good girl' thrown in," I say. I'm unexpectedly near tears again.

"Oh yes... if she was lucky, and only if her efforts had been exceptional." Kanute shakes his head, still disbelieving her off-hand treatment.

"No wonder Trixie fell in love with us when we came to live 'across the road' from her." Across the road... I chuckle to myself. Sam and his family were our nearest neighbours, but hardly what you picture as next door when you're used to city living. It's a little further away than just over the fence. Our house was about quarter of a mile from our road gate, and Sam's was about the same, further along the road. The distance between our road gates stretched well over a mile - and to our farmhouses, even further.

To Trixie this was the only kind of 'next door' she knew. A number of hops skips and leaps over a fence or three was all it took... with her great long strides. Every opportunity she found to escape, she would be off to our place - despite anybody's pleas, whistles or shouted threats. The only time she would obey the order to 'stay' was when all the signs showed preparation for a hunt.

"Didn't I try to discourage those illegal visits?" I ask, and Kanute nods vigorously. Even his efforts to 'tough it out' and ignore her failed, time after time. It was all too hard to resist when her monster head kept nudging me at waist level and her great quivering body wound itself around my legs. Her great, mournful eyes swam with love, as she serenaded me with a symphony of whimpers.