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The Mister Judy Story
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Once upon a time a man named Enos Cornwall lived in a small log cabin by the shore of Robinson Lake. The lake is just a short distance east of Moscow, Idaho. It was a man-made lake, but how the lake came to be is another story. He lived alone, but for one companion, a male dog whom he named Judy.
Judy was part Shepherd, and part Border Collie. He was a very intelligent dog, and he liked to please his owner. There was quite a large area where Enos and Judy could take long walks. Enos talked to his dog extensively, and he did not “baby talk” either. Now dogs who descend from Border Collies are very attentive to what their owners say and do, and they are also very attentive to their surroundings. They rest in a characteristic pose: paws crossed before them, chin resting on paws, ears up and alert for any sound, eyes staring intently at whatever holds their interest. If you ever meet that gaze you come to know that you are not being regarded as a superior, but rather as an equal. It is not uncommon for such a dog to learn two hundred words just from conversation. They can even pick up nuances of context. Not that they speak words (although there have been instances of one or two words spoken). Judy did not speak any words, but he understood many.
Enos was growing old, and he knew it. He decided to move to a place where he would not have to maintain his cabin and yard, and he could be cared for as needed as he became older. Unfortunately, he would not be able to take Judy with him. Enos set out to find a suitable home for Judy.
My mother and father and I lived in Pullman Washington, and we had a home on about four acres right in town. The South Palouse River bounded it on the east, and a steep brushy hillside was included on the West. We had planted a few firs, and pines, and a cedar tree to complement the maples and poplars and horse-chestnuts that were already there. The vegetation resembled the cabin-site on Robinson Lake.
Enos had been acquainted with our family for generations, and he thought that we might qualify to adopt Judy. My mother, who was undoubtedly the kindest of the lot of us, was the prospective owner. All of this was subject to a proper introduction and interview to determine compatibility.
One day Enos arrived, bringing Judy with him. He had mother explain the layout of our place. He then took Judy around the entire perimeter. They returned, and he made the introduction as follows: “Judy, this is Mrs. Wahl. She will be your owner now.” He then explained that Judy now knew the boundaries of his new home, and that he would not stray outside the boundaries. Enos then said goodbye to his dog, and went on his way.
Judy was indeed Mother’s dog. Dad and I were acceptable, well and good, and he would accompany us around the place. However, any time that Mother emerged from the house, he immediately went to her side. He never strayed outside the boundaries Enos had shown him. For “potty-breaks” he never messed the yard: He always went out to the perimeter for that.
The only change that my mother wrought was his name: Because he was a male, he was renamed “Mister Judy”, and so was called thereafter.
Mister Judy was an outdoor-dog, only invited into the house occasionally. That was fine with him, as he had a very dense coat of fine hair, predominantly white, with a few brown and black marks about the face.
Dad built him a very comfortable doghouse. It was built of pumice blocks, with a sort of “corridor” entrance to block the wind. The hollows of the blocks were packed with wood shavings. It was capped with a trussed roof and ceiling with gable ends. The loft was insulated with dry maple leaves from the fall raking. Later on a family of three kittens was born in that loft. There was a nice window in the front so he could look out toward the kitchen of our house, and keep appraised of our comings and goings. We ran an extension cord out, and put a light inside to keep him warm. Dad liked to tell our guests that the light was out there so that Mister Judy could read at night. This made the guests laugh. Laughing is good for your soul.
When the weather was too warm to be in the doghouse, Mister Judy would sleep right against our laundry-room door, which opened inward. The three kittens would sleep right on top of him. If anyone opened the door, Mister Judy would immediately stand up, launching a three kitten avalanche onto the laundry-room floor.
All of these things happened a long time ago, just after the middle of the twentieth century. It is only natural that most of the participants in this story have gone to their heavenly rewards. I am happy to be here to tell the tale. They live on in our hearts and minds, and now, also in yours, because you now know the story!
-David Wahl
Please see our Books category to purchase works by David Wahl. |
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