World Fence News

50 • JUNE 2017 • WORLD FENCE NEWS In loving memory of Jim Hart, fencer, storyteller, and world class humorist, WFN reprints some of the many articles that he contributed to the publication over the years. Sadly, Jim passed away some time ago in Florida, where he lived. This column first appeared in the February 1988 edition of World Fence News. • • • I recently got involved with a fe- male other than my wife. Her name's Samantha, and she's a pretty little thing. Now, before you jump to any conclusions, let me add that she's about three years old, weighs about 40 pounds and has silky smooth grey, brown and black hair. And four legs, two ears, a wet nose and tail! Yep, she's a dog. You thought oth- erwise? Hah! The local vet called up and says he needs some dog pens, right now if not sooner. He says to get out to his place pronto, quick, arriba! He's right … He's got a dozen mutts of all sizes in a small pen. It's his month to take in strays from the county. He hasn't had to destroy an animal since he set up shop. He keeps 'em till someone adopts them. He says it sorta got out of hand this month … you want a dog or two? I'm in the same business; I take in and adopt out strays, too. Any given week I got five dogs callin' our place home. I once had 17. It was worth your life to cross our yard at night … 17 mutts coming at you, three were pit bull pups that didn't care if they nailed you, me, trespassers, the other dogs, anything that moved. Well, one thing leads to another. He's got space 38' long already fenced on two sides with 72". How many pens you want? I ask. You're the fencer, you tell me, he says! I say, "Come on, Doc, not another one of them deals!" He says "As many Fence job goes to the dogs BY JIM HART, WFN CONTRIBUTING EDITOR ERMITUS as you can squeeze in, but make one of them 10' and divide up the rest of the space." We settle on 7 small 4x8's and one 10x8. "Go to it," he says, "and get someone to pour a slab also." I do, but somewhere down the line we have a lack of communication. The mason pours a slab 38' long, 10' wide. He was supposed to call me before he poured. Well, he did call alright, but got my record- er and went ahead anyway since he had an unexpected afternoon free. Sheesh! I wanted to incorporate some existing line posts into the new pens. They are now per- manently "locked into place" in the center of three dog pens. Totally use- less except to hold top rail. The Doc calls and tells me the slab's in. "Problem?" Doc asks. "Any- way, I got confidence you will figure out something." "I'll kill the mason," I says, "then start on anyone who looks like him, then kill myself!" Well, I figure I might as well get started. The only way to eat an ele- phant is one bite at a time. The jour- ney of 1,000 miles begins with the first step, etc. I wish whoever made up these little words of wisdom had 'em stuffed somewhere, sideways! Well, about now, my female trou- ble starts. We are core drilling holes and the door opens and in walks a blonde, about 20, in short-shorts. She's the vet's assistant, and she says, "I've got company for you!" Then she turns Samantha loose. One helper drills a hole through I did say she weighed 40 pounds, right? More like 70. I carry her 10 steps, put her down, get a death grip on her tail. She wants to run, and we repeat the process all the way back. I swear her tail is a foot longer when we finally arrive! It's hot at quitting time, the new concrete has baked our feet, and I'm getting itchy on my arms and chest. We get home, and I ain't getting itchy, I am itchy! I got huge welts everywhere I held Samantha. I call the vet and describe the symptoms. He says it sounds like mange! When he gets through laughing, he says scratch it, pour alcohol on it and see an M.D., since he couldn't prescribe medicine for humans. He calls back in a few minutes and tells me to please not come back to finish the job until I get rid of the mange; he don't want the other dogs to get it from me. I finally find an M.D., and he takes me right in. He doesn't want his other patients to catch it. I told him on the phone it was either chicken pox or bubonic plague. He said it looks like mange to him. He prescribed baths in baking soda and hydrogen peroxide, Benadryl spray, two tranquilizers three times a day and an antifungal pill! I'm afraid to ask about the fungus pill. Well, the itch stopped after the second bath, and the rash disappeared in about a week. I ran into my mason – the one that screwed up the slab – and he said his feet were itching him to death since he did that vet's job. He said he figured it was athlete's foot. Hah! I knew what it was, and it ain't athlete's foot. Athlete's foot med- icine won't touch this stuff. But I gave in and called him that night to tell him it was really mange. Oh, and Samantha? She didn't come down with it! my shoe while ogling the vet's assis- tant … Luckily, it's the foot I need an oversize shoe on, due to an accident that squashed some toes years ago. Anyway, no damage done except the hole in my shoe and sock. What I don't forgive him for is bolting my foot to the concrete. I wrench my back while trying to keep Samantha from stealing my tape mea- sure. She's a "klepto K-9"! Nothing is safe! Cigarettes, wrenches, tape, nuts and bolts, all disappear. She is burying them! It gave me quite a start when one helper we call Peanut turned up missing. Samantha was filling in a rather large hole, and what were we supposed to think? Anyhow, it turns out Peanut went into the office to an- swer a call of nature (and sneak a peek at the vet's assistant). Samantha is also an escape artist. Every time we open the gate to go to the truck, she gets out. The third time out it dawns on us that she always winds up out front on the parking lot sniffing for her owner's vehicle. We quit chasing her through the woods, across the creek and through three yards. We wait out front, and here she comes! She won't come back on her own this time. She lays down and gives me that "OK, smart guy, what are you gonna do now?" look. Well, having been an "honorary dog" myself, I got a few tricks of my own. I grab her by the tail and scruff of the neck, pull her to her feet and grab her up in my arms. Hernia time! Well, I figure I might as well get started. The only way to eat an elephant is one bite at a time. The journey of 1,000 miles begins with the first step, etc. I wish whoever made up these little words of wisdom had 'em stuffed somewhere, sideways !

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