posted on Jun, 21 2014 @ 10:08 PM
At a local Golf course I frequent several times a week (where I either play or practice) there was a dog. The dog was not all that big and only
weighed about 30 pounds.
Every time I would go to said Golf course the dog would seek me out for a scratch behind the ears or just to be close. Even if I walked 18 holes he
would be following along while scouting around for something to catch and eat.. I never fed the dog or brought him a snack I only spoke to him and
acted like I was glad to see him with kind words and a scratch.
The manager hated the dog and every chance he got he would act like he was going to hit him, usually with a stick or a stone. Conversely every time
the dog would see the manager he would growl and you could tell he really wanted to take a chunk out of the manager's butt.
Mostly the Caddies never touched the dog for many people around here think dogs are dirty. A cuss word in the local language or possibly fighting
words is "pac mah" which translates to "dog mouth"; call it a cultural thing.
This median size dog was very territorial and I have seen him run off other dogs almost twice his size with a deep growl and bark followed by a full
blown attack.. No hesitation 100% quick and deadly as the other interlopers were dispatched to greener pastures yelping with their tails between their
Well as luck would have it one day at the driving range I saw the manager and one of the Caddie's putting a rope around the dogs neck by offering him
something to eat while slipping the rope over his head. Of course the dog fought but the harder he pulled the tighter the rope became until he was
I stopped hitting balls and asked, "what was going on" ?
The manager said he was going to haul the dog off far far away and get rid of him because he was mean and bit people..
Whether he would release the dog or just kill him I was not sure so I said , "just put him in my truck bed and I will take him away".
I finished hitting balls and the dog was loaded in the truck. I asked one of the caddies what the dogs name was and they replied "Lamb Bo". Lamb Bo
is their version of Rambo... aptly named for he always won against much larger opponents.
Rambo and I arrived home and I have never seen him so terrified. His first ride in a truck bed and unlike many dogs he had remained laying down and
not moving the entire 20 minute ride back to the farm.
Upon arrival the tailgate was lowered and in a soft voice I urged Rambo to get out from the bed of the truck. He was hesitant but finally he jumped
down. He still had the rope around his neck so I made sure he did not run off.
I fed him and gave him a scratch. He was very hungry.
In my mind within 10 minutes a miracle happened for when I removed the rope Rambo went to several places around the farm and urinated; thus marking
his new territory.
Yesterday I took Rambo to the vet where he got a haircut, Rabies shots, de-worming, and a general over all fix up for a dog who has been basically
wild all his life. I had to pick him up to get him in the car and to be honest I was ready for him to turn around and try to bite my face off..
Nothing; he just took me picking him up while he went into his "this is the end mode" and look.
It has been a week now that Rambo has lived with us. Initially he would growl and threaten anyone but me who approached him (had me worried for he
does not like local nationals) however this morning he was sat next to my wife (who is a clean freak) and seemed to be enjoying my wife's clumsy
attempt at petting.. My wife is not an animal person; growing up on the farm they had enough problems feeding themselves much less some animal but
even she and Rambo seem to be getting along nicely.
The best dog I ever had chose me when I was around seven years old living on a farm. His name was Junior and he lived to be 22 plus years of age. I
fed him a baloney sandwich I just happened to have on me while going to the mailbox which was about a 200 yards from the farm house.
It took a few more sandwiches and meetings of him over the next week before he decided I was not going to hurt him. He too had been abused and was
(best guess) six months old at that time. Junior was not just a dog but a real friend in a doggy sort of way as we had many adventures together..
Junior would fight to the death for me and all I had to do was say "Sickem" and he was on whatever full bore.. I never saw him lose even when we
were confronted by 3 medium size feral dogs one day while hunting. All I had with me that day was a Bow so I got one and Junior made the other two run
away. I honestly do not know what would have happened if I would have been alone ?
Living on a farm it is always nice to have a dog who will guard the farm and in Rambo's case, I would feel sorry for anyone trying to break-in to our
house during the night.
We had a delivery truck arrive a few days ago and the delivery guys were pinned against the back of their truck as Rambo stood before them growling
and ready to go into bite mode.. There was no doubt in the guy's mind Rambo was serious. I walked out of the house and saw the scene and one word
from me Rambo came to my side and stopped growling as I petted him and let him know it was O.K.
Small things in life can bring a feeling of accomplishment and Rambo has already made me have a feeling of gratitude for being at the right place at
the right time.
Dog haters will not understand..