EPISODE 267 WHEN TARA GOT PREGNANT: A DOG STORY
alan skeoch
Feb. 2021
We called her Tara. Named after the estate in the movie Gone With the Wind. She was a coonhound. Not so
common in Southern Ontario. Those who know much about dogs and like to impress said “Never get a coonhound…hunting
dogs…they will take off on you following a scent and never return.” Well, that never happened. Tara to our family was as porridge is
to breakfast. We could take her to the sugar bush and let her loose to nose around but she never lost sight of where we were.
And not just because she liked the taste of maple sap. She liked us. And we felt the same about her.
We knew something about animals but not nearly enough.
“Alan, don’t you think Tara should have pups?”
“Never gave it much thought.”
“Well, I am going to search around for a male…seems every dog in
Ontario has been neutered. Not easy to find a male.”
Marjorie found one…purebred male coonhound. Perfect. She introduced
them to each other and fell in love. Too fast for Marjorie. Tara was about as
heterosexual female as they come. Her lover felt the same.
This is where things began to go wrong. They were both left alone for a
time in our backyard. Almost instantly he jumped on Tara’s back holding on
tightly with his front legs. His thingamabob was ready…heading in the right
direction. “Houston, we have made contact,” as they say in the space industry.
They certainly made contact. Next time Marjorie looked Tara was facing south
and her lover facing north. They were locked! Normal when dogs have sex.
But Marjorie did not know that.
“Oh, dear, she’s going to snap his thingamabob in two pieces.”
And Marjorie ran to the house and got a pail of cold water. Ran back
and dumped the whole pail on the two lovers. Marjorie figured that
would cool off the love affair and allow him to get back to his owner
in one piece as it were.
Later, Marjorie discovered that it was normal for dogs to get locked
in this rather disgusting fashion.
All was not lost. Tara was very pregnant and one fine spring day she
delivered eleven…yes, eleven…coonhound pups. Now that posed another
couple of problems. Our back yard was deep…400 get and unfenced.
The pups ate like stink. And grew and grew. I tried to contain them by building a walled enclosure but
the higher my brick wall got the higher the pups got…over the wall. Lucky
that Tara was a good mother. She cornered the pups if they got too far away.
The Mississauga news got wind of our good fortune and sent a photographer
…big news. Nice clipping in the paper that has been on our refrigerator for
decades. Kevin and all the puppies.
“Marjorie, what are we going to do with 12 coonhounds? Start fox hunting with the idle rich?”
“No, Alan, I will run a sign and we will find owners for them.”
“Hunters?”
“Get serious.”
So Marjorie interviewed all the potential owners of our pups. Lots of men came
because coonhound pups were rare. The interviews went something like this.
“Lovely dogs,”
“yes, they are lovely. Do you hunt?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Well you better head home because you are NOT getting one of our pups.”
The reason Marjorie felt that way was because one late November day we found
a beautiful hound sleeping on our farm verandah. He was not ours. His owner was no
where to be found. A day or so later the owner arrived saying. “I left my old coat
for him back in the bush. Usually he finds it and waits for me. He goes off on a
scent and I cannot keep up with him.” That line of B.S. did not cut it with Marjorie.
Neglect, she concluded.
And the other reason was another hound we knew about down the Fifth line. Nice dog
chained up in the barn all year. Only let loose in hunting season. Two weeks of freedom
then back on he chain. There was a circle around his kennel in the barn where his chain
had rubbed the ground. That was the limit of his world.
Another story kept surfacing of people finding hounds abandoned at the end of the hunting
season. Left to run wild. Left to die or get picked up by the humane society. Or shot by a
farmer for worrying sheep. Not sure how true the story was but it was enough
for Marjorie to conclude that no hunter would get one of Tara’s pups. And none did.
There also was tragedy. We kept one of the pups and named him Shadow. A beautiful loving kind
of dog. Obedient. Too obedient. He got loose one day and wandered down the street following
a scent of some kind. We saw him … only about four houses down from our place.
“Shadow, you get back here right now.”
He turned. Looked at us an came prancing back. He never saw the car coming south
and the driver had no chance to see him. We cried…and cried.
Tara looks a little ferocious in this picture. Not os. Gentle as a lamb.
She did not bark much but when she did bark then her booming vice echoed through the bush or down a city street.
Did she miss her pups? Take a look at her face and draw your own conclusion.
Alan Skeoch
Feb. 2021