Yeah…………….He does. And, most of the time he uses them, too. He is also a Con-Dog extraordinaire, and he will make you feel guilty faster than your mother.
Hank has been a member of our family for at least 10 years, since he was about 2 years old. Perhaps I should give you a brief history of this dog. In 1996 this young artful dodger first owned our brother George. An educated rogue at best, this dog would magically appear at George’s place in the country to steal food. But, pretty soon, he just sort of took over. George’s girlfriend had cats, so George dutifully tried to run the stray off, but the black and white pest kept coming back day after day. Once, he even smacked the poor pooch with a broom hard enough to break the broom handle, and immediately regretted it. It was a flimsy broom, but that's no consolation. The rascal would not give up. He seemed to know that he could wear George down, and finally did. George’s girlfriend named him Hank. I’m guessing it was for Hank the Cow Dog.
George (aka GIII) said of Hank: “He humored me with learning tricks about as quickly as I could come up with them. Maybe that was because it meant I spent more time with him. I could make a hoop with my arms and say "Jump!" and he will jump right through. This was an old standby trick my family regularly taught our dogs. If I said, "Howdy," Hank would offer his paw to shake hands. If I said, "Witness!" Hank confidently barked out his dogma. He especially liked the "High Five!" prompt for him to jump completely off the ground and hit my raised and extended palm with his paw.”
Not long after Hank showed up, a new pup joined the family. It was a beautiful coon hound that GIII rescued from the entanglement of a swing set chain in his neighbor’s yard. The neighbor decided that this beautiful dog would be better off at George’s house. GIII named him Bob. Hank was older, bigger, smarter and more athletic than Bob; therefore Bob was under the tutelage of Hank. Hank taught Bob everything he knew. They ran freely out in the country chasing varmints and checking pee-mail. Though GIII thought the two of them were staying on the property, they were actually sailing over or under fences to chase rabbits, skunks, opossums, raccoons, or what ever would give them good sport. Eventually, though, Bob out grew Hank. They still ran together, but they had periodic disputes about who would be the Alpha Dog. Blood would be spilled. One or the other would occasionally require a stitch or two, and eventually Hank let it be known that he was born to be an only dog. Something had to be done, so GIII handed Hank over to our nephew, John.
Hank now owned John. They lived in California for a while, and then moved to Houston. In this time, Hank got royally used to living the good life. He even had his own feather bed. They were best buds and went on long trips together. When John had to go out of town, he’d put Hank up in the best doggie resorts. There, Hank was pampered even more. He was turned out daily to herd sheep and geese. Oh, this was not a job! This was recreation, fun….great sport! John's job had started keeping him away for many hours. He often had to be out of town. Poor Hank had no one to boss around, and didn’t get to go out and check pee-mail as often as he would have liked. John called me one day, and asked me if we could keep Hank for him for a couple of weeks while he went on vacation in Italy. Of course I would, but Roy was pretty apprehensive. We hadn’t had a dog in years, and he didn’t want a dog tearing up the house. I convinced him that any dog that had been under the tutelage of GIII would be well behaved and have some manners, and Roy half heartedly relented.
While John was in Italy, our grand twins were born. I flew up to Amarillo help out with the new babies, and Roy followed a couple of days later in the car….with Hank. Roy stopped at regular intervals to check pee-mail and at McDonald's for burgers. Yes, they did. They bonded with McDonald’s quarter pounders. Hank got his very own quarter pounder. The training of Roy had begun. They showed up like they’d been together since Hank was a pup. They were litter mates now, and I could tell that Roy didn’t want to give Hank back to John. And then, a couple of weeks after John had returned from Italy, he called us and asked if we would like to have Hank. Well, of course we would. I know John wrestled with the decision to give up his only dog. It wasn’t easy for him.
Hank has been our master for almost 6 years. That would make him 12 years old this August. He minds us pretty well, but I’m more of the ummm….caretaker, and Roy is definitely Hank’s litter mate. During the day, I feed Hank, get him bathed and walk him. He follows me from room to room. Promptly at 4:00 in the after noon, he starts barking commands at me. “Get in here and open these blinds!” Then he herds me to our bedroom window so that I’ll open the blinds so that he can sit at the window to watch for Roy. As soon as he sees Roy’s car, he races to the back door to go out and meet him, barking, ”He’s here! He’s here!” After a brief greeting, Hank shows off a little, by cutting a circle around the back yard, clearing out all birds and squirrels. Of course he has to tell Roy about our day, and then he herds us until we’re both in the same room. Then the wrastlin’ begins. They roll around like a couple of puppies for about 15 minutes. After a while, Roy is exhausted, and settles back to watch the evening news. Hank didn’t say he could do that, so he gets right in Roy’s face and looks him in the eye. Then he lifts his right front paw and pokes Roy in the chest……."Boy! I’m talkin’ to you!” “You are NOT through playing with me!”
As I said, the dog’s got manners. He knows that he’s not supposed to be in the room while we eat. Automatically, he goes into the living room a respectful distance and lies down. One eye opened, he watches the progress of our meal. As we finish up, he has magically moved half way across the living room floor. By the time we’re finished, his toenails are just across the threshold of the kitchen. Mind you his position has never changed. It’s as if he’s levitated himself to move as we progress with our meal. As we are taking our dishes to the kitchen sink, he’s on It …. right at our heals to help clean up the dishes. There is bound to be a morsel we will allow him to have. Dessert is a totally different matter. Since we often have ice cream in the bedroom while watching television, Hank will come in and sit on his bed….with his back to us. This way…."They can’t possibly see me.” Actually, he’ll sneak a peak to check on our progress so he can lick the bowl. If we catch him peaking, he immediately looks ashamed at getting caught peeking, and looks away….back in hiding.
We don’t typically give him people food. Well…..Not often. Mostly, he’s a free feeder, and we give him Ol’ Roy Dog Food for Older, Fatter, Lazier Dogs. He grazes at will, and when he sees me at the kitchen counter making my lunch, he lies down (as the Romans did) and noshes as he gazes at the horizon to watch for possible food thieves.
He loves to go in the car, but there are times when he must be left behind. I will say that most of the time, he’s pretty good about being left behind…..If we leave him a treat. Even then he hangs his head, strikes a pose at the end of the couch with his back to us, looking over his shoulder as we walk by to leave him behind. I can actually hear and feel his horrible admonition…."Leaving me here again!……You sonofabitch!” Here’s the clincher. He won’t touch the biscuit we leave for him until we get back. I’m taking that as, “I’ll be damned if I’ll relieve your guilt by eating that biscuit in front of you!” We always leave this house with out Hank…feeling guilty as charged!
His hearing is just about shot, but he can hear clapping, and high pitched whistles, and he can hear a squirrel chattering. That’s very important. He’ll sit in the back yard, patiently watching squirrels eat the squirrel bait that we put in the feeders. There is a fine string of drool running from his pink bottom lip into the grass. He really wants to chase them, but he’s got arthritis in his front paws. He seems happy to sit there and drool. But, if you interrupt his drooling reverie, he dashes off to get the squirrel, just to show you he can still do it. He’s never caught one, but if he ever did, his first inclination would be to let it go.
One of his favorite things is to go to the drive through at the bank. They all know him there, and he’ll entertain them by singing for them…….any Elvis tune. Then he’ll tell them “I want!” Which means, That’ll be two cookies, please! This always gets him a dog biscuit and an extra bone-nus. Those are the best days….when he gets two biscuits. It just doesn’t get any better than that, except when they invite in to be fawned over.
I’d say that Hank still loves to do tricks, but that’s not really the case. George and I both agree that they are not tricks. It’s something he loves to do. It’s playing and showing off in the grandest way. He still loves to jump through your arms, just lower you arms a little. He’ll still gladly give you a high five, but his hind legs stay on the floor. You’ll just have to come down to meet his high five. As I write, he's sitting beside me giving me orders again, "Hey! You promised to take me to the park!" He's still our master and best companion. He's still the best dog ever. I'm off to the park
