If People Were Dogs
My mom is a rat killer, and by that I mean, if she were a dog she’d be a Jack Russell terrier. Once she sinks her teeth into something there is no letting go. I say this with love and pride because no one will ever match Sherry Lott as a warrior.
I watched her go toe to toe with a Tabby (Tabiona, a small town in Utah or Tabby for short) mom who unwittingly denigrated my brother on the basketball court by calling him a “dirty player”. My mother stands 5 '0 at best, but she has a pointer finger that lands like a pistol when she points it at whomever she is about to give the “good word” to. In this case it was a 5’6, long legged mom with cowboy jeans, boots and a belt buckle the size of Texas. Standing in the middle of the basketball court after the game, the two women circled each other with the husbands standing slightly behind like point guards, looking as if they would rather be anywhere than this place. I, the ref, stood between the two and called for calm. I could have told the Tabiona woman that my mother can and will wrestle you to the ground just because she can, and insulting her child will absolutely not stand. My mother is a rat killer.
I only tell this story because my husband and I talk about people and animals often. He is also a rat killer and I love him for it. He gets an idea in his head and he will go down every tunnel, read every book, call every person who might be able to put an idea into action and then the game is on. I watch in amazement as he pulls together an idea and turns it into an enormous event that actually helps people. Yes, he is a rat killer too.
When I asked him what animal he thought I might be, he had to think for a minute. Suddenly he blurts out “You are a Bouvier”.
“What?” I looked at him in confusion.
“Yes, it's a large, powerful herding dog, like a poodle, a fancy poodle”. He states without a whiff of sarcasm.
“A poodle? You think I’m a poodle?” I’m incredulous!
“Yes, a fancy herding dog.” He puts the emphasis on “fancy”. He is driving and seems to be oblivious to the look on my face. "Well, you do try to herd people into doing what you want them to do.” He stares at me, eyebrows raised.
When we arrive home, I do a quick search of the Bouvier. This is what I found.
“The Bouvier des Flandres is a large herding breed from Belgium with a sturdy body to pair with its wiry fur, floppy ears, bearded face, and fluffy appearance. This confident, powerful dog is an expert at putting their size and intelligence to work.
The breed's beard is one of its most recognizable features. In fact, Bouvier's Dutch nickname, vuilbaard, means "dirty beard."
I decided right then and there to avoid talking about what could become my very first nickname.
It is true that I might attempt to “guide” people in a direction that would be beneficial for them. I’m not sure that I “herd” them but maybe those two words amount to the same thing.
This morning as my husband sits down by my side at 5:00 AM to talk about biochar and its ability to clean up hazardous material in the soil, people he can contact to help move his ideas forward, letters he can write, I know he has a bone that he is not going to let go of. He tries to describe his role in this chain and I say he is the “YATTA” man, or “you ought to do” it man. My rat killer. “Go get 'em!”