HUCK AND FINN © Phil Ward, 2019

During our daughters’ freshman year at Oregon State the dogs she had grown up with here on the place died. Cinder and Bruiser were both old by then and passed of natural causes. Nonetheless it was troubling for the young college student to come home for a weekend visit and not find them waiting to greet her with tails wagging. So troubling in fact, that she began suggesting that home didn’t really feel like home without a couple of big, happy, dogs patrolling the premises.

On the farm we’d always had dogs. Big dogs, mostly of the Lab/Shepherd variety, though Granddad had a penchant for lap dogs that would cuddle up with him in front of the TV in the evening.  Cinder and Bruiser were both Shepherd crosses that had spent long and happy lives as friends and protectors to our family and farmstead. However, with their passing, my wife and I were kind of enjoying being dog-less for first time in many years. It soon became apparent those days were numbered.

One Saturday afternoon about half-way into the school year our daughter showed up and asked if I would join her in a visit to the local animal shelter, just to see what kind of dogs might be available—no adopting, you know, just looking to see what the possibilities were. So began a regular practice of father/daughter shelter visits to see if there was anybody who “really needed” to be rescued that week.

Now I don’t know whether you have spent any time visiting animal shelters but each trip felt a bit like a visit to a torture chamber to me. Don’t get me wrong, the shelter was great—clean, well lit, with caring, friendly staff, but being confronted with all those wagging tails and earnest faces, each seeming to say “pick me, pick me,” was not my idea of fun. For several months I was able to resist bringing anyone home, but by the time we got to our third visit I had concluded the daughter was not giving up. And, on that visit we met Huck and Finn.

Huck and Finn were two male, Chocolate Labradors, about a year old. They had been picked up while running loose in a neighborhood on the south end of town. No owner could be found. Huck was stocky and gregarious with a light reddish coat. He came right up to the gate to say “Hello”. Finn was slender with dark chocolate coloring and a reserved, shy, manner. He hid behind Huck. It was obvious to my daughter that the two were a pair–if not brothers then close comrades who could not be separated.  Before I knew it they were both in the truck and we were headed for home. On the way out the door one of the shelter staff commented under her breath, “Two Chocolates at one time, they must be nuts”.  Little did we know…

Chocolate Labs are a high-energy dog. If you don’t find things to keep them busy, they will–often in ways you won’t like.  Chewing, digging and attempts to “see the world” without supervision are common manifestations of that energy. Soon my carefully manicured lawn looked like a war zone, pock marked with miniature foxholes dug by flying dog feet. It seemed like everything that could be appropriated for chewing was: gloves, sneakers, work boots, shovel handles, vegetation, and all manner of hoses. My wife’s newly planted rhododendrons were cleanly cropped off at ground level and several young blueberry bushes suffered the same fate. One 50’ garden hose was neatly chewed into 3-5 foot sections. My spot sprayer was “de-hosed” in a similar manner, and even the tractor hydraulic system showed signs of enthusiastic gnawing. The final indignity, however, was when I came home one day to find my pickup truck mud flaps completely chewed off. And while the perpetrators of this crime hung their heads in shame when confronted with the evidence, they went back to chewing happily as soon as my back was turned.

Despite these serious character flaws, Huck and Finn wormed their way into our hearts in short order. They were always friendly, affectionate and even pretty obedient after a bit of training. They eventually grew out of the digging and chewing phase and we quit having to hide hoses and shoes. Their favorite activity was to join my wife on a bike ride on the farm roads leading down to the river. Paroxysms of joy would follow the mere mention of the words “bike” and “ride”.

Over the years Huck and Finn became integral parts of the family. They were a big hit as enthusiastic greeters for our daughters’ college graduation party and for her cherry orchard wedding a couple years later.

Finn died of cancer two years ago and is buried under the walnut tree next to Cinder and Bruiser.  Huck, suffering from bad hips, can no longer keep up with the bikes and spends most of his day lounging on a big pillow in the family room. He has been joined by another adoptee, a year-old Chocolate named Bella, who, in his opinion, has way too much energy. We are back to hiding hoses and shoes.

Huck and Bella were around for the birth of both our daughters’ daughters.  I look forward to the day those girls convince their folks to take them to visit a shelter, just in case there’s someone there who might “really need” rescuing.

Author: Phil Ward

Phil Ward is a 5th generation Oregonian who over the course of a 40 year professional career has served as a high school Agriculture Instructor, Executive Vice President of the Oregon Farm Bureau, Director of the Oregon Department of Agriculture and Oregon Department of Water Resources, and State Director of USDA’s Farm Service Agency. He lives with his wife Pam on a piece of the home farm south of Independence, near the Willamette River. View all posts by Phil Ward