Rocky - pet or hunting dog?

We think Rocky was a hunting dog in his previous life.  In fact, we’re pretty sure of it, since an old hunter came around the campground looking for his best hunting dog a few weeks after my husband, Tad, took Rocky home.  No one spoke up of course.  I think if Rocky were smarter, he would have really appreciated that.  He went from living outside in a pen to the lap-of-luxury!

Normally a hunter who keeps dogs treats his pack fairly well.  But they are NOT treated as pets.  My father-in-law has a few hunting dogs, so I’ve seen this first hand.  On my first hunting escapade with Tad, I quickly volunteered to retrieve the dogs at the end of the drive.  I felt bad for them and wanted to pet and show them some affection.  That’s when I discovered why hunting dogs are not treated as pets.  It’s not because they are considered working-animals and such treatment would make them soft and useless.  It’s actually because of the horrible odor they give off!  It’s like a musty mix of old cheese baking in the sun, with week-old sweat.  If that weren’t bad enough, if you actually touch one – say to try to pet it – good luck getting that smell off your hands for the next two days.

 

Considering Rocky’s background, you can understand some of his behaviors… but others don’t make any sense at all.  For example, if it’s been raining, Rocky will try his darndest not to get his feet wet.  I have to chase him off the back porch if the grass is even slightly damp, otherwise he’ll either decide he can hold it or find a suitable spot on the porch to do his business.  When his feet hit the wet grass, you wouldn’t believe your eyes - try to imagine a beagle on his tip-toes.  When Rocky and Rolly would come in from the backyard on a rainy day, Rolly, the white Dalmatian, would be covered from head-to-toe in mud, while Rocky, the ex-hunting dog, would be as pristine as when he went out.

Maybe part of Rocky’s dislike for getting wet and dirty stems from his hard life as a hunting dog, which would make sense.  What doesn’t make any sense is his need to lick anyone who gets within a foot of his face.  My father can attest to this from personally experience.  Imagine getting woke up with a French kiss from a beagle with really bad breath!

Rocky doesn’t like fences.  Probably another result of living in a caged pen day after day.  Our home does not have a fence, but we did install one of those underground, electric barriers to contain the dogs.  Rocky seems perfectly content with this arrangement.  But previously, at Tad’s old home, Rocky would try everything in his power to escape the half-acre, fenced-in backyard.  For some reason Rocky sees a physical barrier as an obstacle to be surmounted - some kind of challenge. 

One morning at the old house, we were all peacefully sleeping, only to be awakened by a horrible screaming/howling sound.  I knew something was terribly wrong, so I ran towards the noise, finding Rocky at the gate of the chain-link fence howling miserably.  He was stuck and trying to back up to free himself.  When I got close enough I could see that he was caught by his ear and the reason he was making that awful noise was because his pulling had actually punctured his floppy ear and he was trying to tear it free.  I was able to stop him from pulling while Tad used pliers to free his ear without additional damage.  Since it was already pierced, I suggested we make Rocky an earring, but Tad didn’t go for it.

Tad attempted once to take Rocky back to his roots.  Bright and early one Saturday morning in November, Tad loaded Rocky into his dog box to take him hunting.  From what I understand, any time the truck was moving, Rocky was howling.  The first drive of the day, Tad’s brother released Rocky with their father’s dogs.  As soon as the other dogs caught a scent and started after the trail through the woods, Rocky decided he’d rather not go trailing through the rough brush and mud.  Tad’s poor brother spent the next hour trailing Rocky up and down the dirt lanes.  When he finally was able to get Rocky into the dog box, the howling started again.  Everyone on the club could hear Rocky as Tad’s brother made his way back to the camp.  I’m pretty sure Tad’s brother had a lot of things to say to Tad when they got back, but whether he was able to hear it through all the howling, I don’t know.

I’ve come to the realization that Rocky will never be a normal dog.  He’ll never be like a real pet because of his origins as a hunting dog, and he’ll never be an actual hunting dog since we give him baths and let him sleep on the couch.  Poor Rocky, torn between two worlds, yet somehow he’s found a little place in all of our hearts.