My Friend BlutoBluto
By Ronnie Powell
Friendship can be simply defined as an unquestionable love, devotion, loyalty and respect that results in great companionship. To share life equally with a friend whether it is a human or animal is truly remarkable.
My first impression of Bluto was that of a juvenile rat. A tiny ten week old Rat Terrier that would in the years ahead to become a part of me and me him emerging into a friendship that knew no bounds.
Teresa, my oldest daughter requested a puppy for her 4th birthday and my search for the proper companion for the little girl led me to a friend who raised Rat Terriers. I arrived a week too late to prevent the docking of the pup’s tail as is required for registering of papers. I was allowed first choice and immediately centered my attention on a feisty pup undeniably the leader of the pack. White with black spots and inquiring eyes that missed nothing waddled over to where I crouched and wagged the stub of tail. I gently placed him in my lunch bucket, closed the lid and headed for home.
Upon arriving at home a short time later I sat the bucket on the floor and told Teresa there was something in it she would like. She with curious delight responded lifting the lid taking the sleepy puppy in her arms, calling him Bluto after a character in Pop Eye the Sailor Man. Bluto, had found a home with an equally young human family, resulting in an enduring relationship.
Bluto was given the run of the house and with few mistakes soon learned to go outside when necessary. We expected much from Bluto as if he was a child of our own and he seldom faltered. It was not in his best interest to remain cooped up inside and began following me around outside exploring an old barn and chicken house. He quickly learned to dig for mice and rats, chased a rabbit or two, setting the stage for life as an adventurous hunter. A small dog at best, Bluto feared nothing, protecting Teresa when necessary. He followed me into the woods one morning to squirrel hunt and spotted a young squirrel on the ground and the chase was on, never loosing sight of the creature until it made a stand in a tall sycamore tree. Bluto delighted, stood yapping, jumping about. Bluto’s devotion to Teresa was second to none yet there was a part of him she would never share.
My treks along the Niangua River were nearly always accompanied by Bluto, disappearing for an hour or two and then reappearing scratched and dirty ready for his share of whatever lunch I carried. I could only imagine what encounters had kept him so long. Bluto’s love of adventure often surpassed my own, following me into caves along wet passageways so narrow we barely made it through.
I had only to say,” “let’s go home,” and he would lead me unerringly through passages offset by others to the outside.
One particular warm summer afternoon while resting by the river, Bluto barked and ran into a field. I stood up calling for him to come back and then saw the reason for the hasty departure. A huge groundhog darted into a hole with the terrier on his heels. Bluto never broke stride and followed the groundhog in the tunnel. Fearing for the dog’s safety I ran quickly to the den and began calling his name. I sat down and listened and heard much growling and commotion deep underground and then silence, prolonged silence. Thirty minutes passed and still no sign of Bluto and I began to fear the little fellow had been killed. A muffled growl, a grunt or two caught my attention and Bluto appeared tail first out of the den dragging a large dead groundhog and no sooner than he cleared the hole with the body he again went down and a few minutes later returned with yet another large groundhog. He lay down between them panting, proudly looking up at me and wagging the stubby tail.
Bluto never content to trot along beside me, ranged ahead and one afternoon while returning home I failed to see a large bore skunk sitting on a log ahead of us on the trail,. Bluto growled and ran toward the skunk intending to give chase. I yelled but too late. Bluto leaped on the log and was hit point blank with a dose of spray knocking him to the ground. He lay whimpering, gagging. Unmindful of the dreadful odor I ran to where he lay, picked him up and retreated.
The encounter with the skunk left Bluto blind in one eye but it did not diminish his spirit and soon insisted on following me again Age had begun taking its toll on the spunky terrier and his sorties into the woods beyond me were not as frequent and often remained at my side.
One gray winter day in 1968 after leaving an overhang where I had previously discovered a large earthen pot and had spent the day Bluto and I headed home. We had crossed the river earlier that morning in an old flat bottom boat that had gone astray from somewhere upstream, and we returned to the site boat was gone, retrieved perhaps by its owner. We faced a cold crossing through a fast moving riffle. I stripped down to my underwear, placed the clothing in a backpack and stepped into the icy cold water. I could barely stand the bone chilling temperature, but had no choice but to continue on. Gasping for breath I waded deeper into the numbing water that soon rose up around my waste. The current pulled at me unmercifully as I stumbled out into the channel.
Bluto swam ahead of me and reaching the bank he stood waiting. Soon I could no longer feel my legs and again I faltered and dropped to my knees, feeling the rush of cold water close around my neck. The bank lay perhaps fifteen feet further on and fear of drowning sent me plunging ahead into the frigid water.
Bluto again jumped into the river swimming quickly to my side, barking and nipping at my arms. The presence of the dog and courageous act was all I needed and soon I staggered ashore, my hair crusted with ice and collapsed near a pile of driftwood. Crucial moments passed as I franticly searched the pack for matches and lit a fire in a pile of driftwood that quickly it rose into a massive bonfire surrounding us with wonderful life saving warmth.
Bluto passed away at the age of nine years, a dear friend and companion that even to this day he is greatly missed. Adios
By Ronnie Powell
Friendship can be simply defined as an unquestionable love, devotion, loyalty and respect that results in great companionship. To share life equally with a friend whether it is a human or animal is truly remarkable.
My first impression of Bluto was that of a juvenile rat. A tiny ten week old Rat Terrier that would in the years ahead to become a part of me and me him emerging into a friendship that knew no bounds.
Teresa, my oldest daughter requested a puppy for her 4th birthday and my search for the proper companion for the little girl led me to a friend who raised Rat Terriers. I arrived a week too late to prevent the docking of the pup’s tail as is required for registering of papers. I was allowed first choice and immediately centered my attention on a feisty pup undeniably the leader of the pack. White with black spots and inquiring eyes that missed nothing waddled over to where I crouched and wagged the stub of tail. I gently placed him in my lunch bucket, closed the lid and headed for home.
Upon arriving at home a short time later I sat the bucket on the floor and told Teresa there was something in it she would like. She with curious delight responded lifting the lid taking the sleepy puppy in her arms, calling him Bluto after a character in Pop Eye the Sailor Man. Bluto, had found a home with an equally young human family, resulting in an enduring relationship.
Bluto was given the run of the house and with few mistakes soon learned to go outside when necessary. We expected much from Bluto as if he was a child of our own and he seldom faltered. It was not in his best interest to remain cooped up inside and began following me around outside exploring an old barn and chicken house. He quickly learned to dig for mice and rats, chased a rabbit or two, setting the stage for life as an adventurous hunter. A small dog at best, Bluto feared nothing, protecting Teresa when necessary. He followed me into the woods one morning to squirrel hunt and spotted a young squirrel on the ground and the chase was on, never loosing sight of the creature until it made a stand in a tall sycamore tree. Bluto delighted, stood yapping, jumping about. Bluto’s devotion to Teresa was second to none yet there was a part of him she would never share.
My treks along the Niangua River were nearly always accompanied by Bluto, disappearing for an hour or two and then reappearing scratched and dirty ready for his share of whatever lunch I carried. I could only imagine what encounters had kept him so long. Bluto’s love of adventure often surpassed my own, following me into caves along wet passageways so narrow we barely made it through.
I had only to say,” “let’s go home,” and he would lead me unerringly through passages offset by others to the outside.
One particular warm summer afternoon while resting by the river, Bluto barked and ran into a field. I stood up calling for him to come back and then saw the reason for the hasty departure. A huge groundhog darted into a hole with the terrier on his heels. Bluto never broke stride and followed the groundhog in the tunnel. Fearing for the dog’s safety I ran quickly to the den and began calling his name. I sat down and listened and heard much growling and commotion deep underground and then silence, prolonged silence. Thirty minutes passed and still no sign of Bluto and I began to fear the little fellow had been killed. A muffled growl, a grunt or two caught my attention and Bluto appeared tail first out of the den dragging a large dead groundhog and no sooner than he cleared the hole with the body he again went down and a few minutes later returned with yet another large groundhog. He lay down between them panting, proudly looking up at me and wagging the stubby tail.
Bluto never content to trot along beside me, ranged ahead and one afternoon while returning home I failed to see a large bore skunk sitting on a log ahead of us on the trail,. Bluto growled and ran toward the skunk intending to give chase. I yelled but too late. Bluto leaped on the log and was hit point blank with a dose of spray knocking him to the ground. He lay whimpering, gagging. Unmindful of the dreadful odor I ran to where he lay, picked him up and retreated.
The encounter with the skunk left Bluto blind in one eye but it did not diminish his spirit and soon insisted on following me again Age had begun taking its toll on the spunky terrier and his sorties into the woods beyond me were not as frequent and often remained at my side.
One gray winter day in 1968 after leaving an overhang where I had previously discovered a large earthen pot and had spent the day Bluto and I headed home. We had crossed the river earlier that morning in an old flat bottom boat that had gone astray from somewhere upstream, and we returned to the site boat was gone, retrieved perhaps by its owner. We faced a cold crossing through a fast moving riffle. I stripped down to my underwear, placed the clothing in a backpack and stepped into the icy cold water. I could barely stand the bone chilling temperature, but had no choice but to continue on. Gasping for breath I waded deeper into the numbing water that soon rose up around my waste. The current pulled at me unmercifully as I stumbled out into the channel.
Bluto swam ahead of me and reaching the bank he stood waiting. Soon I could no longer feel my legs and again I faltered and dropped to my knees, feeling the rush of cold water close around my neck. The bank lay perhaps fifteen feet further on and fear of drowning sent me plunging ahead into the frigid water.
Bluto again jumped into the river swimming quickly to my side, barking and nipping at my arms. The presence of the dog and courageous act was all I needed and soon I staggered ashore, my hair crusted with ice and collapsed near a pile of driftwood. Crucial moments passed as I franticly searched the pack for matches and lit a fire in a pile of driftwood that quickly it rose into a massive bonfire surrounding us with wonderful life saving warmth.
Bluto passed away at the age of nine years, a dear friend and companion that even to this day he is greatly missed. Adios
1 comment:
What a great birthday present this is--to revisit my beloved friend Bluto. I too have fond (but not as adventurous) memories of him.
Thanks for this wonderful trip into the past. I've never forgotten my spunky little lunch box dog that loved all of his family with everything he had inside.
T
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