[Granville-Hough] 28 Jul 2009 - Bob, the Feral Dog

[Trustees for Granville W. Hough]

  The next dog in our lives was Bob, the Feral Dog.  I do not recall 
just how Bob came into our lives.  It may have been that he adopted us, 
rather than the other away around.  He made himself so useful that all 
the adults liked for him to go along on any hunting or exploratory 
expedition.  Bob tolerated children, but he did not take any 
responsibility for them.
    Some of our neighbors who still had goats and sheep claimed they 
were losing some each season and accused Bob of being the culprit.  We 
did not believe a word of it as Bob showed no interest in livestock 
around our barn and pastures; however, my father did not want trouble 
with any neighbors.  He got the older brothers to agree they would take 
Bob about 40 miles away to the far corner of the county.  Someone my 
father had met in Raleigh (the county seat) was looking for a guard dog, 
and agreed that Bob would fill his needs quite nicely.  So one Saturday 
or Sunday, we all gathered around our T-Model car and said goodbye to 
Bob, and away they went.  They delivered Bob and all seemed well.  They 
came home and we resumed our lives without Bob.
    About four months later, older brother Dueward was out late one 
night, probably sampling someone else's home brew.  He heard a noise 
along the fence near the road, and it sounded like a dog or possibly a 
painter (panther).  When he got home, he put some leftovers in Bob's old 
dish, just to see what would happen.  The next morning the food was gone.
    Then, for about a week someone would put out food and call out, 
"Here, Bob, Here Bob," and we decided we either had another feral dog or 
we had a smart neighbor's dog who had learned how to get two evening 
meals.  Then my mother took over the feeding and Bob would come within 
sight when she called.  Soon he was back as a regular member of the 
household, though wild and skittish.
    It was a wonder of our world that a dog could find its way home 
forty miles over remote country roads.  I have read of other dogs even 
performing greater feats of travel to get back to their human families.  
I still do not understand what guides them.  It cannot be smell alone.  
Anyway, I know it happened in this case.
    My father notified all the neighbors that Bob had somehow returned, 
and that any dog found killing goats or sheep should be shot on sight.  
After a few weeks, Bob disappeared; and we assumed a neighbor shot or 
poisoned him. 
    I always had a secret hope that somehow Bob had got the word and had 
moved on to a Canine Heaven where every dog could chase down as many 
goats as it could find.