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Sandy and Wags…The Fight Is On!

Story ID:8771
Written by:Charles Dishno (bio, contact, other stories)
Story type:Musings, Essays and Such
Location:Dillon Montana USA
Year:2013
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Sandy and Wags…The Fight Is On!
By Chuck Dishno
2013.

I have written many stories about the dogs in my life, mostly about Ring and Wags but there was another dog named Sandy and this is about him.

Sandy was a Cocker Spaniel who came into my life in 1947. He was about 8 years old at the time and very fixed in his ways. He was given to us by Jim Michaelson who worked as a saw filer in a sawmill near Bly. When the sawmill, Ivory Pine, moved to Dinuba, California he went along with them. He didn’t want to take his dog, Sandy, as he had grown up in a rural setting and he was moving to a small city. He thought Sandy would be better off with us in Bly.

Sandy was a nice dog but had a grumpy nature and would growl at almost anything that annoyed him especially my dog Wags. Most of the time they got along all right but he was always spoiling for a fight. Sandy had a special dislike for cats and we had several who learned to stay clear of him.

As I have mentioned before, I was a duck hunter and Wags was my hunting buddy. Sandy went with us one time and I soon found that he was gun shy. As soon as I fired my 12gauge shotgun, he took off for home and wouldn’t come anywhere near me for a couple of days. He was afraid of thunder too and would hide in a closet until the storm passed.. Wags, on the other hand, loved to go with me and would stand and shake with anticipation until I got my Cushman scooter started so he could hop aboard.

Sandy was the typical Cocker Spaniel with huge feet that were covered with long fur. When he went outside in the snow he would come back into the house with large snowballs on his feet. He would then lay next to the oil heater and chew them off, much to the disdain of my Mom who had to mop up the puddles left behind.

Wags loved the tall oil stove too and being short haired, He would get as close to it as possible to keep warm. His favorite perch was a wooden kitchen chair that was beside the stove. He would jump up on it and sit in the classical dog position with one hip tucked under him and lean as close to the stove as possible soaking in the heat.

One time Sandy was sound asleep at the foot of the chair, lying on his stomach with his legs stretched out in back as Cockers usually do. Wags was sitting on his chair soaking up the heat and had fallen into a deep sleep. I looked up just in time to see Wags topple off the chair and land right on top of Sandy. Needless to say, all hell broke loose and Sandy came up fighting mad. Mom ran out of the kitchen to see what the ruckus was and at first blamed me for the dogfight that was going on. The fight went at it for about 3 minutes while Mom was banging them with a broom. I, of course was enjoying the whole scenario, all the time silently saying “sic-em”.

Soon all was peaceful again and this time Wags decided to lie under the dining room table while Sandy slept in front of the stove. Both had soon forgotten the row and were snoring.

It was a damp day outside and Mom had set up a folding clothes rack in front of the stove. The rack had a broken leg but as usual Mom propped the leg on a small kids rocking chair. This rack made a great “jungle gym for a few kittens that were roaming around. As they climbed the rungs of the rack, it slipped off the chair and came crashing down right on sleeping Sandy. Sandy woke with a start and since he was pointed right toward Wags shot across the room and tied into him with vengeance. Poor old Wags didn't know what had hit him but soon a royal battle was in progress. They were really going at it and the table was in jeopardy. This battle brought Mom out of the kitchen again but couldn't break up the fight with a broom so she grabbed the mop bucket that was about half full and stopped the fight with a good soaking. Not to leave a good crisis go to waste, Mom had me move the table and proceeded to mop the floor. Wags and Sandy were relegated to the back porch to cool off and dry out.

Sandy lived with us for another two years until my brother, Bud, took him to live with him at his home in central Oregon, much to the relief of Wags. At last he could take a nice afternoon nap with out keeping one eye opened for a a blond dynamo bearing down on him.