Bad Dog Bruce

Bruce, the bad dog, has struck – again. Bruce is supposed to be our watch dog, but the only thing he seems good at watching for is trouble to get into. His favorite thing is pulling clean clothes off the wash line and dragging them through the dust or enticing his companion Diesel to play “tug of war” with the clothing – baby’s diapers, skirts, bras or hand crochet doilies. He is not fussy. His next most favorite thing is digging. He was a Houdini at digging his way out of his fenced enclosure, until he got too big. Now he entertains himself digging up whatever Maxwell, the gardener, plants.



Bad Dog Bruce



Last Monday, Maxwell got some cuttings of Pampas Grass to serve as a border along the walk and along the fence. He planted along the walk first. His plan was to compost the area around the fence and then plant it the next day. He was very proud of the walkway planting. It did look nice. Tuesday morning about 7 a.m. Maxwell impatiently knocked at the front door. When I opened it, he demanded that I come out and see what “my” dog had done to his newly planted walkway. When he is bad, Bruce is “my” dog. Every new plant had been dug up and more holes added to the path. I suppressed a smile as I reminded him that this was the dog that he had begged me for for months and had promised that he would care for him because we needed the security of a dog. He sneered that the only thing that dog secured were holes, and he walked away. He was not claiming ownership of such a bad dog. He spent the day replanting the pathway and working on the fence area. By dinner time the replanting and new planting were complete. Amos, the watchman, was given firm instructions by Maxwell to keep Bruce out of the gardens when he was turned loose to “guard” the area after dark. Amos just smiled and nodded. He would do his best.



Amos and Maxwell building the fence



Wednesday morning the insistent knock came again. Bruce had ignored the walkway but had started on the area in front of the fence. Amos had stopped him, but only after he had dug up half the row. I suggested that maybe Maxwell needed to fence the area, until the plants had taken root and matured to the point that they were no longer of interest to Bruce. Maxwell’s face brightened as he envisioned a fence. By lunch time he and Amos had the materials and by dinner the bamboo fence was erected. He and Amos were certain that it would stop the digging. I was hopeful, but not as certain. But they had a plan. Amos kept one of the bamboo stocks and used it as a rod, a deterrent any time Bruce came close to the fence during the night. Bruce soon lost interest in the plants and went looking of other trouble to get into.

All was quiet the rest of the week. This morning, as I left for church, Bruce scooted past Amos and out the gate as I was driving out. This afternoon when I returned, Amos greeted me with a question. Had I gotten a rooster that I had not told him about?  I said no and asked why. He said when he captured Bruce this morning there was a rooster with him in the yard. Amos had put it in the empty pen we have in the back yard, to keep Bruce from eating it. It seems that in his brief escape from the yard, Bruce had stolen a rooster. He had chased it into the yard, planning it for his dinner, I’m sure.. As I write this, Amos has taken the rooster and is searching for its owner. Bad Dog Bruce is in his encloser. He has struck again.