Jim Follis

I really don't know if it's all guys or just the guys I hang out with. (Wife Nancy leads me to believe that there's a better than average chance that I border on being - weird.)

But we like to listen to a good story and "top it" with an even better one. Some of my favorite stories have to do with people's pets or livestock.

And, always, these stories grow better with time but still must be true. We have no time for fabrication, but a little added color is acceptable.

At a recent storytelling session following a fence-mending project, we were telling stories about terrible tragedies that had befallen some of our favorite pets.



Meet Murphy

I goaded son Darin into telling about his adventures of obedience school with his Labrador pup Murphy. (Not really fair, but I do love to tease).

Murphy is an 85-pound, muscle-bound, jet-black package of volatility that would make a bomb squad expert nervous. It seems that Murphy was just too much for the program, and both son Darin and Murphy were quietly excused from the program (until they both were more ready).

Apparently every time Murph got close to any other makes of the canine species, he wanted to play. Corralling an 85-pound hormonally driven four-wheel drive all-terrain Labrador is not an easy task, especially when you are in front of your peers and the dog obedience instructor.

No raised voice. No vicious yanks on the choke collar. No zaps with the 2,000-volt cattle prodder. And an absolute guaranteed 30-day jail sentence if you kicked your mutt in the butt to get his attention.



Grad stand

Son Darin was doing a really good job of entertaining us while still retaining some pride of malehood as he proudly announced that they since had returned to the class and earned their graduation.

But his wife, Mia, rudely interjected the fact that Murphy's real claim to fame came during the graduation ceremony.

It seems that Murphy, too, was tired of the obedience school and demonstrated his disdain for the whole endeavor by plopping a steamer right on the stage during the ceremony, causing general pandemonium and major emotional stress to son Darin and daughter-in-law Mia.

Seeing son Darin on the ropes didn't stop me; I furthered his red glow by pronouncing Murphy as "all trained now." All trained unless you are leash-walking him near the park.



Off-leash excursion

"Today," I began as I leaned forward into my "I can top that" story.

"I was walking along with Wife Nancy, grandchild Michael in a stroller and Murphy on a leash. All was going well with Murphy in a semi-heeling position. (At least he wasn't making that whistle-breath sound that signals "danger, untrained dog ahead.")

We were enjoying the huge trees, the mammoth two-storied 75-year-old houses, the beautiful yards and the proximity to a huge 50-acre park. As we crossed the street to the park, Murphy ignited all three stages of his rockets and demonstrated the ingenious design of the break-away collar, definitely saving my arm and, most likely, certain shoulder separation.



Coming to heel

There I was, dumbfounded, deer-in-the-headlights look on my face, watching Murphy turn several loop-the-loops in the air, race a couple or three or four doggie wind sprints, conduct one or two squirrel drives and for a grand finale, perform a tongue-flopping, crash-into-me return, looking up at me with those big brown eyes.

After checking to see that I had the collar (leash attached), both of my arms, all of my fingers, no leash burns, I commanded Murphy to "HEEL."

He did! I was so shocked; my fingers trembled with excitement as I buckled the collar around the creature that had just managed to demonstrate who was in charge here.



Dog answers prayer

As I looked into those dark brown eyes, I quietly prayed, "Please don't take off again, you ornery pile of fur. How will I ever admit that I was overpowered and outsmarted by a puppy that was Mia and Darin's pride and joy?"

We were only 30 minutes into our first baby-sitting stint with grandson Michael and family dog Murphy. To have lost Murphy during our probationary baby-sitting period would have meant sudden death for our chances of future baby sitting our grandson Michael.

As we cut our trip short so Murphy could be returned to the safety (my safety) of his backyard, I did report that Murphy was very gentle with me. I think he knew what a terrible scare he had given me and he was truly remorseful.

As I unsnapped his leash back at home, he gave me a long look with those sad brown eyes and a quick lick in the face to register his apology for having scared old Grandpa.



Jim Follis is a retired school administrator, has published two books and currently writes three newspaper columns. Eating, drinking and making merry are his professed hobbies. Traveling, trekking and observing people follow not far behind.