OCR Text |
Show ffcrrLE Creek .S- Tfl?- By K.B. "Spot" is dead. Since nobody seemed to know his real name, this cognomen will serve as well as any other. His mortal remains were discovered at dawn last Saturday, Sat-urday, near the Pleasant Grove underpass on Highway 91. Rightly enough, he was one of the post Labor Day casualties of our madcap mad-cap motor age. Spot, brown and white mongrel clog, came to Pleasant Grove several sever-al weeks ago, evidently by automobile. auto-mobile. In all probability he had been "taken for a ride" by his former for-mer owners, who no longer cared for his services or companionship. In the opinion of Joe Mills, veteran veter-an Canning Engineer, he was "thrown out" on the highway at a point just west of the local canning can-ning establishment. Regardless of his origin or ante-cendents, ante-cendents, he was observed one morning in the pasture adjoining the food processing plant. In the enclosure were also several cows, a calf or two and some horses. four hours each day doing his duty as he saw it. Perhaps he had knowingly adopted the kindly cattle cat-tle as his "folks", in compensation for the loss of his former inconsiderate incon-siderate master An incident occurred one recent morning which clearly demonstrated demonstrat-ed his affection and almost human intelligence. A sizeable piece of paper had blown into the pasture and Spot picked it up. With the paper in his mouth, he began running run-ning in circles around a week-old calf; pausing now and then as though expecting the youngster to chase him. This went on for some time, much to the enjoyment of the cannery workers and astonishment astonish-ment of the bug-eyed bovine. From the point of view of sustenance, sus-tenance, Spot was more fortunate than many itinerant dogs. Dr. B. C. Linebaugh and Cannery Manager Man-ager Wesley Jense, whose animals feed in the pasture, brought him occasional snacks; and the workers work-ers tossed him tidbits at lunch There was nothing unusual about this, except for one thing. Like the "Man Who Came to Dinner", Spot stayed on. For some reason known perhaps only to himself, him-self, he displayed an ardent affection affec-tion for the cows and calves. The horses, he tolerated but indifferently indiffer-ently ignored. When the cattle left their bedding bed-ding grounds early in tlie morning morn-ing and headed for the lush, grassy gras-sy areas of the pasture. Spot led the procession. He stood watchfully watch-fully nearby until the cows had eaten their fill, and then piloted the way back to the herd's resting rest-ing place under the black willow trees. While the animals took their mid-day sieta, he reclined in the shade of an old pea viner. He never got in the way of the cattle or annoyed them, in any respect re-spect He was just there twenty- time. From a dog's requirements the setup was not too bad. There were warm days, cool nights, fairly fair-ly regular meals and reasonably easy employment. The best part of it all was that he had a home of sorts, a sense of belonging and a feeling of earned respectability. No one will ever know what dire influences lured him from his adopted home Friday night, and caused him to cross roaring 91. Perhaps it was wanderlust; perhaps per-haps the urge for canine compan-ship. compan-ship. Whatever the cause, that brief journey was his last. Spot has joined the great concourse con-course of honest working-men, who have succumbed to the hazards of modern highway travel, while seeking a little relaxation from the hum-drum monotony of work-I work-I a-day life. No flowers, please. I So long 'til Friday. |