Get 'em Dan
01/30/06
“Got a big black dogWhose name is DanLives in my backyard in BirminghamHe is the meanest dog in Alabam'Get 'em Dan”
Lyrics from Birmingham by Randy Newman
As part of the PhD program, at UT in Austin, my first wife, Alice (W1) was enrolled; she was required to take an animal surgery class. Mostly they used rats, doing things like intestinal drug absorption studies. As part of the course, however, she was required to perform a sterile surgery on a larger animal. Dogs purchased from a pound somewhere in Arkansas (or so they were told) were used. For her particular surgery, she performed a splenectomy. While performing the surgery, she remarked to her coworkers that she had always wanted a dog such as the one she was operating. A coworker insisted she would be a dog murderess, because the splenectomy was part of the preparation for his next procedure. He was to undergo a terminal cardiac output experiment in a couple of weeks.
About one week later W1 bounced into the driveway in our yellow VW bug with this big black stolen dog standing in the backseat with his head extended out the front passenger window. I suppose the caretakers at the Animal Resources Center (ARC), never knew what happened to him.
The dog could have passed for a registered New Foundland and maybe he was, since we never new his history. He became mostly my dog immediately and he became a fine companion.
Naming him proved to be somewhat of a contentious issue. Good Ol Boys by Randy Newman is my favorite album of all times. It was then and it still is today. It may just be the best thing ever written about living in the South in the 60s. Since I particularly liked the line from the song above, I wanted to call him Dan and that should have been the end of it. If any dog deserved to be Dan, as he would later prove, he was the one.
The problem, though, was one our best friends, who happened to live across the street, had a best friend named Dan and the two of them were frequently at our house. Dan was more than a little insecure. W1 was sure giving the dog the same name would drive him off the deep end. Although the drive off the deep end would not have been a particularly long trip for him, I don’t think the naming the dog Dan would have done it. I could see though, this might make his insecurities a little worse. So, because of escaping from certain death in a pound somewhere, then again in the ARC at UT and possibly many other times only the dog himself knew, we decided on the name of Lucky. But, I always secretly thought of him as Dan.
Lucky was about as good of a companion as a dog could be. Always liked to be petted, but never pestered you for it. He could accompany you to the park or on a run without a leash, never leaving your side. Everything would be fine on our outings until another dog approached us. Over the 3-4 years I had him, no dog attacked or even growled at him twice, one time was enough. If a dog approached and barked, growled or bristled, Lucky immediately attacked. Lucky never barked, growled, bristled his hair, displayed any aggressive behavior, or gave any type of warning. Whether the dog was half or twice his size, it made no difference. I don’t think I ever saw him miss immediately getting the other dog by the throat and starting to shake it violently. Perhaps he just couldn’t tolerate rude dog behavior, but I am sure I saved the life of several dogs by pulling Lucky away. Every dog immediately retreated.
One time the two Spitz dogs from next door, which like to bark at him through the fence, escaped their yard the same time as Lucky. When the two dogs approached and barked, he grabbed the closest one and started to swing it into the second one so viciously the second couldn’t get to him. If the neighbor and I hadn’t separated them, I think he would have killed both.
Other than aggressive behavior towards other dogs he was always a fine companion. When I was getting ready to move from Austin, I took Lucky to Mom and Dads’ farm. Where he lived on for a few months quite happily chasing rabbits, lying in the dirt under pick up trucks, swimming in stock ponds and whatever else true country dogs like. He adapted quickly and well. Then one day he went missing never to be seen again. Perhaps he met his match in the form of a coyote pack or just maybe he was lucky one more time and found a mate.
“Got a big black dogWhose name is DanLives in my backyard in BirminghamHe is the meanest dog in Alabam'Get 'em Dan”
Lyrics from Birmingham by Randy Newman
As part of the PhD program, at UT in Austin, my first wife, Alice (W1) was enrolled; she was required to take an animal surgery class. Mostly they used rats, doing things like intestinal drug absorption studies. As part of the course, however, she was required to perform a sterile surgery on a larger animal. Dogs purchased from a pound somewhere in Arkansas (or so they were told) were used. For her particular surgery, she performed a splenectomy. While performing the surgery, she remarked to her coworkers that she had always wanted a dog such as the one she was operating. A coworker insisted she would be a dog murderess, because the splenectomy was part of the preparation for his next procedure. He was to undergo a terminal cardiac output experiment in a couple of weeks.
About one week later W1 bounced into the driveway in our yellow VW bug with this big black stolen dog standing in the backseat with his head extended out the front passenger window. I suppose the caretakers at the Animal Resources Center (ARC), never knew what happened to him.
The dog could have passed for a registered New Foundland and maybe he was, since we never new his history. He became mostly my dog immediately and he became a fine companion.
Naming him proved to be somewhat of a contentious issue. Good Ol Boys by Randy Newman is my favorite album of all times. It was then and it still is today. It may just be the best thing ever written about living in the South in the 60s. Since I particularly liked the line from the song above, I wanted to call him Dan and that should have been the end of it. If any dog deserved to be Dan, as he would later prove, he was the one.
The problem, though, was one our best friends, who happened to live across the street, had a best friend named Dan and the two of them were frequently at our house. Dan was more than a little insecure. W1 was sure giving the dog the same name would drive him off the deep end. Although the drive off the deep end would not have been a particularly long trip for him, I don’t think the naming the dog Dan would have done it. I could see though, this might make his insecurities a little worse. So, because of escaping from certain death in a pound somewhere, then again in the ARC at UT and possibly many other times only the dog himself knew, we decided on the name of Lucky. But, I always secretly thought of him as Dan.
Lucky was about as good of a companion as a dog could be. Always liked to be petted, but never pestered you for it. He could accompany you to the park or on a run without a leash, never leaving your side. Everything would be fine on our outings until another dog approached us. Over the 3-4 years I had him, no dog attacked or even growled at him twice, one time was enough. If a dog approached and barked, growled or bristled, Lucky immediately attacked. Lucky never barked, growled, bristled his hair, displayed any aggressive behavior, or gave any type of warning. Whether the dog was half or twice his size, it made no difference. I don’t think I ever saw him miss immediately getting the other dog by the throat and starting to shake it violently. Perhaps he just couldn’t tolerate rude dog behavior, but I am sure I saved the life of several dogs by pulling Lucky away. Every dog immediately retreated.
One time the two Spitz dogs from next door, which like to bark at him through the fence, escaped their yard the same time as Lucky. When the two dogs approached and barked, he grabbed the closest one and started to swing it into the second one so viciously the second couldn’t get to him. If the neighbor and I hadn’t separated them, I think he would have killed both.
Other than aggressive behavior towards other dogs he was always a fine companion. When I was getting ready to move from Austin, I took Lucky to Mom and Dads’ farm. Where he lived on for a few months quite happily chasing rabbits, lying in the dirt under pick up trucks, swimming in stock ponds and whatever else true country dogs like. He adapted quickly and well. Then one day he went missing never to be seen again. Perhaps he met his match in the form of a coyote pack or just maybe he was lucky one more time and found a mate.
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