With only fourteen bodies on the tee sheet, it should have been an uneventful day but that was not to be. It’s deer season and in Mississippi, dogs are allowed to be used in the hunt. Given we’re surrounded on three sides by National Forest, some hounds occasionally lose they’re way and settle-in at Fallen Oak.
A couple minutes into dining on a lunch of flank steak, dirty rice and black beans, a call came across the radio that I was needed to fetch a couple stray pooches who found themselves on the first green. Earlier spotted on the short game practice area, my compadre failed to corral the crafty canines which followed a twosome down number one.
When I arrived at the green, the mongrels had left the group behind and were concentrating on the woods across the pond. They noticed me drive up and did not hesitate to come over. There was one of each sex and the male took the lead with the female a tad more more hesitant.
I had brought a length of rope along figuring to tie them together then slowly drive back as they tagged along. At least that was the plan.
First I ran the rope through the collar of the male and then the female. As soon as she was secured, the male took this as an opportunity to grab some tail and started feverishly humping her. I broke them apart but he jumped right back on. I repeated the maneuver and started driving away hoping they would separate but it only made things worse. The rope was now tangled and he was still humping.
The futility of my endeavor was now obvious. The only way was to walk them back to the clubhouse. It was only the first hole anyway and a direct line back took me across the ninth fairway which made it even shorter.
I started walking then went into a slow trot. Kind of what you see at the Westminster Dog Show when the owners show off their pedigreed pooches. The male was very eager to take the lead but the female reluctant to follow. It got to a point where her collar was coming over her ear and I was afraid it would come loose.
I made some encouraging noises to egg her on and it seemed to work but made the male go even faster. He was pulling me on a pace reminiscent of the tracking of Cool Hand Luke after an escape from the Florida chain gang. We arrived at the clubhouse and the assistant pro took pictures of the phone numbers on the collars with intentions of calling the owners. With that in the works, I took them down to the cart barn and waited for the inevitable retrieval.
Well, guess what? More frigging humping!
After many minutes of petting the two affection-starved bow-wows, I put them on separate leashes to once and for all end the forlorn fornication and went back to finish lunch. Or so I thought.
Two bites in, another call on the radio. The owners had arrived and I was to meet them below.
They parked too far away so I called out and waved them around. A pickup truck, a vehicle ubiquitous in the state of Mississippi, drove up and what looked like two cast members from the movie Deliverance exited.
The rest was short and sweet. They collected the dogs, offered thanks and went on their way.
It was back to a plate of room temperature vittles for me but nothing a microwave couldn’t fix.