Unseen Enemies

Yesterday Jinx cornered two black snakes. Like all of his kind, he has a special hostility for the legless, undulating creatures that appear in our nightmares and in certain gardens. I’m sure Jinx would join me in my disdain and mistrust of anyone who keeps a snake as a pet. Such herpatalogical husbandry is certainly a type of virtue signaling. A very bad type.

The bark Jinx used to alert me to the snakes was an interesting cross between his “Hey, there’s a cow coming up the driveway and I think I’ll go herd her out of here!” rhorf and his “There’s a rabbit! I think I’ll see if I can catch him!” yip. The odd vocalization drew me outside, and as soon as I saw the sleek, dark head rising over the grass, I got the hoe and scooped her up and carried her to the woods. About an hour later, Jinx raised the same alarm on the other side of the house, and a larger black snake, this one a male, was trying to make his way across the front garden. Mrs. Orr called Jinx inside so I could relocate this one without the dog seeing me do it — he had tried to retrieve the first one.

Snakes, however, are not Jinx’s only natural enemies. Shortly after he came to live here at the farm, we learned of a rather treacherous predator which bedevils the poor fellow regularly.

Jinx will be sitting peacefully, minding his own business, perhaps chewing on a claw or watching a bird, and then the attack comes. The first time I witnessed it, I wasn’t sure what I was seeing. My wife had a similar perplexed reaction. But now it’s all come clear.

Jinx is subject to attacks from his own hind leg.

As I noted, the poor fellow will be occupied in some quiet activity, and then he will turn and snarl and the fight is on. I’ve never actually seen the leg attack, but I have seen Jinx grab his rear thigh in his jaws, growling and moaning, twisting and writing to try to escape the rogue limb. He begins to somersault over and over, rolling across the floor or the ground, whimpering piteously, struggling bravely, knotted up like a fur wreath, unable to escape the attached tormentor. Usually he and the leg tire at the same time, and the leg retreats, and Jinx is left panting and spent, looking about with a confused expression. He seems to be saying Make it stop, please….which rhymes with Mephistopholes, and Jinx, like his master, does not believe in coincidences. Mrs. Orr and I  try to comfort him at such times in the aftermath of violence, but Jinx is a realistic dog. He knows that the respite is temporary and the next attack inevitable. He lives his life in the shadow of a malevolent hind leg, a spotted leg, a silent leg, an implacable leg.

Thought I’d leave y’all with a nice song by Mr. Merle Haggard, a treasure of a singer/songwriter, and in possession of one of the two sweetest vibratos in country music history. If the Hag and Dwight Yoakam had ever teamed up for a duet and let those vibratos loose, the resulting acoustic waves would have meshed and locked together in an aural thermonuclear event, and we would have seen signs and wonders. Sweet corn would have sprouted up from bare, dry asphalt. Rainbows would have chased each other across the sky every morning like dolphins. Televisions all across the land would have exploded, and from their rubble fishing rods and horseshoe sets and rocking chairs would have arisen. Catholic priests would suddenly have become tough and masculine, and Protestant pastors would have sported haircuts and clothing that made no one weep nor sneer nor retch. And sturdy bookshelves would have been as plentiful and easy to find as Styrofoam cups, and tattoos would be as easily washed off as mascara, and no dog would have ever had to live in fear of his own limb. It really would have been something.

~ S.K. Orr