Ruff

Ben Foster had never before seen such a squirrely, squirming mass of loving animals. All seven puppies had gathered

around his feet, biting his ankles, chewing on his shoes, and trying to climb up his pants legs. They were beautiful, every bit

as beautiful as his friend, John Stovall, had said.

Ben had driven that morning from his home in San Rafael, California to John’s place in San Luis Obispo after John had

informed him about the puppies during a telephone conversation the previous evening.

Recently retired after thirty years in the navy Ben had decided he wanted a dog for companionship on fishing trips he

planned to take in his newly acquired camper. His wife, Marge, usually didn’t accompany him on his trips; she preferred to

stay home and work in her garden or putter around the house.

Ben had spent the last month searching for just the right dog. Various kennels were visited, also the pound; newspaper

ads were answered but nothing turned up that appealed to Ben. They were all good dogs but not what he wanted.

He also had to convince Marge that a dog was important to him. As a boy, growing up on a Wisconsin farm, there had

always been a dog in the family. His navy career hadn’t allowed him that luxury but that was behind him. Marge was certain

that with a dog she wouldn’t be able to keep the house as spic and span as she liked. Not only that, a dog would also

probably chew up the furniture they had bought to furnish their new home. Ben argued that he would make sure none of that

happened. With reluctance, Marge conceded.

Then, in early April, Ben got the phone call from John, an old navy buddy who was also retired. After discussing their

lives for a while Ben mentioned his search and how disappointed he was that he hadn’t yet found the right dog.

“I have just the right answer for you,” his friend remarked. “My son has a beautiful Golden Retriever that had a litter six

weeks ago; they’re all ready to go. He lives down here near me; why don’t you come have a look? You owe me a visit

anyway. Maybe one of the pups is what you’ve been looking for.”

“I’ll be there tomorrow,” Ben replied.

Early the next morning Ben drove off in his camper and headed south on Highway 101. Six hours later he pulled into

John’s driveway where John came out to meet him with an embrace. “You can leave the camper right there, Ben. Do you

need to level it?”

Ben checked his bubble levels before responding, “No, it’s okay.”

John’s wife, Connie, came to the door and invited Ben in for a beer and a visit. It had been several years since Ben last

saw Connie; another embrace was called for.

“How’s the electronics business?” asked John, referring to a part-time TV repair service Ben had begun after retiring.

“Better than I want it to be; it seems like every geezer for miles around has a TV that needs fixing. I’d rather be playing

golf or fishing. How about you, have you been busy with your real estate business?”

“No, it’s a little slow, so I’ve taken up golf too. How about going out and playing a round tomorrow morning? I can call in

now and get a time.”

“Sounds good to me,” Ben replied. “Do you think we could go look at the puppies this afternoon? ‘

“Sure, Tom will be home from work in about an hour. We’ll take a run over there in a while; he lives only a couple of miles

from here.”

Tom’s house was on a five acre ranchette in the foothills outside San Luis Obispo. The last time Ben had seen Tom he

was a slender high school sophomore in Hawaii, where both John and Ben were stationed at the time. Now he was a robust

married man in his late twenties and worked construction jobs in the area. Ben and Tom exchanged a warm handshake in

greeting and then Tom led the way to a shed in back of the house where the mother and her pups made their home. A gated

fence had been built in front of the shed.

As John had said, the mother was a beautiful Golden Retriever but it was the puppies that took Ben’s breath away. He

wanted all of them. They were a constantly moving bundle of fur balls, crawling all over each other in their attempts to reach

their human visitors.

Tom opened the gate slightly to allow Ben to squeeze inside. Immediately two of the pups attacked his ankles and

another to chew on his shoe. Ben was overwhelmed; so much energy was being expended by those seven tiny balls of

constant motion.

“Are any of them spoken for?” he asked Tom.

“No, you’re the first; but I’ve had quite a few phone calls from people who will be coming in the next day or two.”

“How do I choose one out of this squirming menagerie?”

“First, do you want a male or female?”

“I think a male; I don’t want to cope with the problem of getting one spayed, or having male dogs coming around rutting

after a bitch in season.”

“That makes it easier, there are only three males.” After saying this Tom entered the compound, shooed Ben outside,

bent down and examined each dog and handed the males over the fence to his dad. John held all three pups while Ben

walked a short distance away. “Now release them,” he called out.

When they were released two of them began sniffing the ground near John’s feet. The third, slightly larger than his

brothers, made a beeline for Ben. About three feet before reaching Ben the puppy dropped down on its forelegs, raised its

tail in the air and, in a high-pitched bark said, “R-ruff.”

“That’s the one,” cried Ben. “And I’ve already got a name for him.”

“What?” John asked.

“Ruff.”

Ben knelt down and gave a soft whistle; in response Ruff bounded to him and tried to crawl up Ben’s thighs. To Ben he

was gorgeous; a light brindle color, big feet and, Ben was sure, wearing a grin meant only for him. Ben reached down and

stroked Ruff. Ruff, in turn, tried to chew Ben’s hand but then changed the biting to licking.

It took some persuasion on Ben’s part for Tom to accept any money for Ruff. As an old friend of his dad’s Tom wanted

Ben to take the puppy as a gift; but Ben was adamant. “All the others are going to bring a good price and since I have the

pick of the litter he should bring a good price too.” Finally, Tom relented and took a check from Ben.

“You should get papers on him from the American Kennel Club in a couple of weeks,” said Tom. “Both the sire, who is

called Champion Ruffian III, by the way, and my dog are registered. The litter has already been registered but I have to send

in the names of the new owners. My dog’s full name is Princess Tawny; we call her Tawny.”

“Great,” Ben replied. “It seems like I picked the right name. When I register him I think I’ll use the name Tawny Ruffian.

How does that sound, John?”

“Sounds great to me.”

Tom got a cut-down cardboard box from his garage and stuffed part of an old blanket in it. “This can be Ruff’s bed while

you’re traveling, until you get something better.” Tom also gave Ben an old collar and a length of rope as a temporary leash.

As they returned to John’s house Ruff rode in the box at Ben’s feet with Ben talking quietly to him for the entire trip. In the

evening Ben attached the leash to Ruff’s collar and went for a long walk. Ruff followed along as if it was the most natural thing

in the world.

That night When Ben went to bed he had to give Ruff a boost into the camper. Ruff’s legs were too short for him to climb

the steps by himself but with Ben’s hand on his rump and Ben at the same time calling “Up”, Ruff made it. Ben made the

camper’s dinette into a bed for himself rather than sleep in the cabover bed as he usually did; Ruff’s bed was placed on the

floor next to the dinette. Ruff woke several times during the night and started to whine; a few pats on his head accompanied

by a few quiet words soon settled him down again. Ben was amazed at how quickly Ruff accepted everything.

In the morning, following an early golf game, John drove Ben to a large pet supply store where Ben bought a choke collar

and a new leash for Ruff and a supply of food to appease his voracious appetite. “From the way he eats,” Ben remarked, “I’ll

have to buy food in hundred pound sacks.”

“That might last a week,” John replied, with a grin.

On the return to San Rafael Ben stopped several times for Ruff to relieve himself. Again, Ben was pleased with how

quickly Ruff seemed to understand. When they arrived Ben arranged a bed for Ruff on the back porch, using the old blanket

as the bedding so Ruff would have something familiar in his new surroundings. When Ruff appeared ready for a nap or sleep

Ben led him to his bed, patted his head and sat with him until he settled down, all the time talking to him quietly.

Marge couldn’t help commenting, “You treat him as if he’s a baby.”

“Well, he is,” Ben replied. “He needs love the same as a baby does.”

For the next two months Ben and Ruff were an inseparable pair. Ben took Ruff for long walks, both on and off the leash,

sometimes in the city around Ben’s neighborhood, at other times in the forested hills outside of town. Twice they went to a

nearby lake to sample the mediocre fishing to be found there. Ruff wandered some at first, then lay at Ben’s feet alertly

watching Ben’s every move.

In those two months Ben worked with Ruff constantly, teaching him to obey the simple commands of sit, lie down, stay,

and heel. Ruff, being a puppy, had the occasional slip when he wanted to run and play rather than maintain the discipline Ben

was trying to attain. He also had a few “accidents” on the porch but they were early in that time period. Ben bought several

chewy toys for Ruff and made sure one was always at hand when Ruff wanted to chew. All in all, Ruff quickly became

responsive to all commands.

There were many other dogs in the neighborhood, also a number of cats. Ruff tried to make friends with all of them. This

worked fine with most of the animals but there were a few exceptions. One woman walking a pair of poodles quickly found

herself completely entangled in leashes as the poodles tried to get away from the monster they thought was attacking them.

Another dog, a large Boxer, broke away from his master and chased after Ruff; in this case Ruff came scooting back to Ben

looking for protection. Both owners had a good laugh at the result.

A cat with a new litter of kittens lived next door to Ben. Ruff, in his usual curious way, stuck his nose up to the chain link

gate and soon drew it back with a whimper and a number of bloody scratches.

Many children also lived in the neighborhood. Ruff was soon well known to all of them. Ben always cautioned them,

“Watch out or he’ll lick you to death.” The kids loved it and couldn’t get enough of Ruff.

Of course, Ruff got into his share of mischief; at times causing Marge to become upset and threaten to ban Ruff from “her

house.” One time Marge was mixing the ingredients for a pot of stew and momentarily left the bowl unattended while she left

the room. A loud crash, followed by the sound of feet slipping and sliding on the kitchen linoleum brought an “Oh no,” from her

followed by an “Oh yes,” when she reentered the kitchen.

On another occasion Ruff knocked over a can of paint Ben was working with and made tracks across the garage floor.

For this Ben did ban Ruff from the house until his feet dried.

From various small building chores Ben had accumulated a pile of sawdust in the back yard. Ruff used this the way a

child would use a pile of leaves, jumping into it and then charging out at Ben, covered with sawdust. It didn’t take long for the

sawdust pile to be scattered all over the yard. As this was what Ben planned to do with it anyway it wasn’t a problem.

By late June Ben decided Ruff was ready for a real fishing trip; he knew he was ready. Ruff was five months old, all the

puppy shots were out of the way; he was now almost three times the size he had been when Ben first saw him and weighed

almost forty pounds. He no longer needed help in ascending or descending stairs; the camper was entered in one bound.

Even getting into the cab of the pickup presented no problems, Ruff could leap up onto the seat in one bound.

Marge assured Ben that she really did not want to go along; she had many things to do around the house.

It took Ben less than an hour to pack the camper and hit the road. Most of his personal camping clothes and fishing gear

stayed in the camper at all times, except when they needed laundering. He also kept a well stocked larder. A large plastic

container with Ruff’s food and a few refrigerator items were all that needed to be packed.

Since his retirement Ben had read many articles about the great fishing in Montana. This would be his destination for the

next month. He would try the various lakes and streams he had read about in the western part of the state and save other

parts of the state for another time. The area around Missoula looked like a good place to start. It was great hiking country

also from what he had read; maybe he would do some backpacking.

Ben’s intention, at least at the start of the trip, was to find some small, fairly shallow streams to fish. That way Ruff would

be able to wade with him and not always be in over his head. Of course, there had to be some deep holes, and pockets of

fast water too; otherwise there wouldn’t be any trout. Ben also had to relearn the art of fly fishing; it had been many years

since he last tried it. This would be easier on a small stream, providing there wasn’t too much brush.

After arriving in the area Ben spent several days exploring, checking out different streams, asking questions, and

rereading some of the literature he had. One book, although several years old, was a guide to Montana trout streams; it

contained detailed information as to access, type and size of trout, terrain, and amount of use. Ben used this book as his

main source and was able to locate several streams that locals failed to mention.

One stream he discovered, about 50 miles southeast of Missoula, seemed to fit all his requirements. Ben followed the

stream on a dirt road and was pleased to find an ideal camping spot in a clearing next to a bridge that crossed the creek

about three miles up the dirt road. A dense forest of second growth pine trees surrounded the area.

The stream varied in width from 8 feet to 15 feet and in depth from 6 inches to 2 feet, exactly what he needed. After

parking and leveling the camper he put on an old pair of sneakers to wade in, strung his fly rod and whistled to Ruff.

He walked down the road a half mile then made his way to the stream through the trees. When he waded into the stream

Ruff followed without hesitation. Each time Ben stopped to cast his fly a soft spoken “Stay” was all that was needed for Ruff

to stand quietly by his side. When Ben moved Ruff followed at his heels. Occasionally the water was deep enough to require

Ruff to swim; this he did with his head held high in the air, giving a quick shake of his body when he emerged from the water.

Each time Ben hooked a fish, and there were many, Ruff stood next to Ben with his tail wagging a mile a minute. Other

than the tail Ruff stayed motionless; but Ben was sure Ruff was chomping at the bit to chase after the fish.

While they were camped at the bridge an occasional cow wandered along the road. Ruff tried in vain to befriend them

but they wouldn’t cooperate. One old bull stood and stomped his feet at Ruff before continuing on his journey.

Following a two week session of fishing several streams similar to the first one Ben decided it was time to try a

backpacking trip. For this he would need a pack for Ruff to carry; otherwise Ben would have to carry all Ruff’s food as well as

his own. With Ruff’s appetite that would be too much for Ben. A sporting goods store in Missoula carried an adjustable dog

pack with saddle bags that would, by loosening straps, continue to fit Ruff as he grew. Growth was continuing to be obvious

in Ruff; since the beginning of the trip he had grown about two inches taller.

One of the salesmen at the sporting goods store suggested an area 75 miles south of Missoula where a good trail led to

a lake at the head of an excellent fishing stream. A hike of fifteen miles each way could be done in short stages with several

overnight stops for fishing the stream and a few more to sample the lake’s fishing before heading back downstream. Ben

stocked enough backpack food to last a week and headed for the stream.

The stream was much larger and deeper than the ones Ben had previously fished with Ruff and the trail, Ben discovered,

crisscrossed the stream frequently. At the first crossing, as they hopped from rock to rock, ruff slipped and fell in, pack and

all. Fortunately, the dog food in the pack was packaged in double plastic bags and didn’t get wet. To Ruff that was a romp,

but Ben made certain he removed Ruff’s pack for each of the other crossings.

This was a stream where, because of its depth, Ruff would not be able to wade at Ben’s side. Much of the time on the

first day of fishing was spent with Ben teaching Ruff to follow along the edge of the stream. After the first day Ruff was no

problem, he again learned quickly; Ben was able to get Ruff to follow using hand signals, or a quietly voiced command.

On one occasion, as Ben was approaching a fishy looking stretch he heard Ruff yelp and saw him begin to paw at his

head and ears. A large swarm of bees was attacking him. Apparently, out of curiosity, he had stuck his nose into their nest

and soon had them swarming all over him. The only solution Ben could think of was to have Ruff swim across to him. This

worked; the bees were discouraged by the rushing water and returned to their nest.

At the conclusion of the backpack trip Ben decided it was time to go home. He knew he had found what he wanted in a

dog and there would be many more fishing trips for Ben and Ruff in the future.

END OF STORY.