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by Patrick Killough [05/22/1999] The Collie Tales of Albert Payson Terhune Are you happy when someone writes well about dogs? When I was about nine, I discovered Albert Payson Terhune in the Shreveport public library. Lad, Wolf, Treve and other collies were raised by Terhune at Sunnybank farm in New Jersey. Of Sunnybrook he was the “Master” and his wife was “the Mistress.” In World War One the Terhunes loaned the U.S. Army one of their finest dogs. Bruce carried messages along the front lines in France. He distinguished Germans from Americans through the cabbage in the enemies’ diet. Bruce was wounded but survived. Terhune collies were loved and responded with loyalty and affection. I grew up accepting dogs as self-sacrificing creatures worth making friends with. You may read about the Sunnybank collies at many web sites. Try http://www.ncx.com/users/paulb/collies.htm/. Look up there a feisty Sunnybrook genetic throwback named Wolf, a kindred spirit to a certain dog of Black Mountain. A Dog Named Dawg Of late, canines have been bashed in the pages of the Black Mountain NEWS. Some complain that packs roam the streets while the Mayor, the Council and the lone dog catcher wring their hands. Others defend the city government. A Black Mountaineer recently wrote to the NEWS, upset about a solitary dog whose power to intimidate seemingly surpasses wandering packs. This report was a bit much for the accused dog’s initially unwilling owner, my friend Richard J. Sojka. Rich replied in a letter to the editor reproduced May 6, 1999, a swashbuckling manifesto sprawling across four columns and two pages of the NEWS. It is in the tradition of letters to the TIMES of London, a letter fit for anthologies. Written more in sorrow than in anger, Rich’s plea is action-packed and, above all, touching. Mr. Sojka also praises as humane but efficient the animal control efforts of the city and of its lone Animal Control Officer (ACO), Mrs. Linda Hawver. Not having thought of Albert Terhune in over 50 years, I now happily rejoice that a pen like Terhune’s is writing about beasts of the Swannanoa Valley. Six years ago there entered the lives of Rich and Jane Sojka Black Mountain’s reigning animal anti-hero, a “scrawny, very cagey, tan colored dog...He had no owner, no home, and was being harassed by the children and teens.”The Sojkas and neighbors alike phoned city officials for help. The dog proved too street-wise to be caught. When the worst winter in 100 years fell upon Black Mountain, Jane Sojka pitied the freezing, starving canine.The dog food she gave him made him theirs. The city said that the Sojkas were now obliged to provide for the animal, whom they had named “Dawg.” After three attempts, they managed to drug him through his food, lull him to sleep and bring him to a vet. Dawg then received a medical checkup and all his shots. But Dawg slipped out of every harness used to secure him to a leash. Months ago I met Dawg when I swung by Rich’s house after interviewing his neighbor, Black Mountain novelist Yvonne Lehman. Rich had warned me that I would be challenged by an ostensibly ferocious dog which would, however, not bite. I trusted Rich, and Dawg proved vigilant but accepting. Dawgishness, however, proved more than one of Rich’s neighbors could bear, and he complained to the local editor. Rich and Jane then announced in the NEWS that they would have their hound put to sleep in whatever way authorities prescribed and permitted. But first they wanted to record his good side. Dawg “protected not only us, but our ... neighbors.” He chased away intruders. “He challenged a black bear who came to devour the bird seed in the feeders. He has treed and chased away the raccoons. He has taken on and chased away roaming packs of dogs.”While promising to put Dawg to rest, Rich also pled for patience. He would give Dawg death with dignity. “Not trapped or caged, scared and angry in his last moments but (he would) eat a hearty last meal and drift off to sleep, happy and secure.”Albert Payson Terhune’s successor as a dog annalist is alive and well in Black Mountain. His flawed hero, Dawg, did not grow up buoyed by the love and care of Terhune’s Lad and Bruce and Treves or even the quirky Wolf. Very late did humans love Dawg. But not too late. Dawg still lives. Town authorities have laid down tough rules for drugging Dawg and bringing him to the vet to be executed. But Dawg may yet be pardoned. Since Rich’s letter, many citizens have rallied to his dog and the city seems willing that Dawg soldier on. But what if Dawg is executed? Dawg reminds me of the old writer whom Burt Lancaster played in the 1988 film, ROCKET GIBRALTAR, which introduced child star Macaulay Culkin. The grandfather of Culkin and several other young children died on his 77th birthday. On a nearby beach the day before, he had told his grandchildren how much better ancient Viking funerals had been than nowadays when people lay loved ones to rest in earth to be feasted on by worms. The appalled grandchildren responded by hastily refurbishing and putting a sail on an abandoned lifeboat, as a present for their grandfather. When he died unexpectedly, they secretly removed his body from his house during birthday preparations, brought him to the beach and launched him into the waves. The children then set his gasoline-drenched boat afire at sunset, shooting flaming arrows from shore. “No worms!” they chanted, as they and their parents watched the boat burn through the night. I wonder if Lake Lure might someday be available to cremate a dog of Black Mountain. Terhune and Vikings might hope so. [NOTE: Dawg still lives. He found a kind mistress willing to keep him on a large property. TPK 06/11/2001.] -OOO-
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