greet me on arrival. But, upon returning to my vehicle, after a couple hours of what can only be described as spectacular fishing, I made the acquaintance of a dog who would terrorize me (or try to) for several years hence before falling victim to his bad habit of walking home down the middle of the highway on the way back from hot dates in town. (Who knows if this lethal habit was arrogance or simple, proud exuberance? Either way, he expired with a smile.)
This guy, I think his name was Sid -- or it should have been -- had his own unique schtick. He'd show up sometime while you were fishing and position himself at the driver's door of your vehicle until you returned.
Seemed to me he was always just waking up when I arrived. He would uncurl from his previous prone position in such a way that you noted he was equipped with only three legs just as he began to growl from somewhere deep in his throat, and his yellow eyes began to glow in the sun. His throaty growl, those yellow eyes and his three-legged stature gave you to know this was a dangerous animal; a black-haired extortionist with nothing positive to recommend him.
I was fortunate at our first encounter to have a small piece of Snickers bar left in my pocket. Sure enough, I threw it off to the side and, while he went to collect his take, I had enough time to throw my rod in the back of the truck and myself into the driver's seat. Over subsequent visits I found two things: 1) Sid's performance never varied, and; 2) Sid wasn't nearly as vicious as he at first appeared.
On an excursion with my brother-in-law, I had been careful to warn him of the three-legged dog, but I guess he doubted my sincerity. So when we arrived at the favorite spot, and I put a couple pieces of beef jerky into my vest pocket, he pooh-poohed and accused me of making up tales and insisting on playing them out. (My experience is that the less people get out and about themselves, the more they are likely to pooh-pooh even the most journalistically accurate reports of others.)
After a long walk upstream and back, the brother-in-law was given cause to take his previous point of view into question. He had climbed up one side of the stile to cross the fence and was about to throw a leg over, when he cast a glance in the direction of his truck. He paused. There, appearing to be asleep, was a hairy, black lump. He, the brother-in-law, smiled...a nervous smile. I thought I heard him say, "Shit," under his breath. As he paused there, the hairy, black lump moved, then stretched, then rose, then stretched again. The brother-in-law was paying very close attention...and counting. One...two...three. He was reaching for four, but it would not come. "Shit." He now spoke the word openly. He patted every pocket on his person, knowing there was not a scrap of food on him and hoping he knew wrong. He looked at the dog. He looked at me. He looked back at the dog. "Shit."
