Baw and the big Cat!

When I was growing up my dad would tell me stories about his childhood. One of the topics of his stories that sticks in my mind was about the only dog that he really ever spoke much about. Baw.... Baw was from all accounts a Basenji Pit bull mix. Baw got his name from my aunt Marlene mispronouncing "Boy" when trying to call him. "Here Baw" she would say, so Baw stuck. What I could gather from the only old, circa 1950 something photo of him, Baw was about 20" and around the 50 lb range. He had the same primative Basenji wrinkled, concerned expression, but with more of a Pit Bull body type. He told me that Baw couldnt bark but made a variance of otherworldly yodelings. My dads father (My grandfather) had spent some time during the war in North Africa. And apparantly had brought back a couple of puppies as gifts upon his return. One of the dogs had died of an unknown illness, but the other, did fine and even sired some pups to the local Plotts and Pits that were in the area. Baw was one of these pups. My father grew up in rural north western Georgia, in the foothills of the Appalachains. His father died after serving in WWII as well as in Korea, a decorated war hero that recieved two purple hearts one for each conflict and then on the way home from Ft. Ord California was killed in a Jeep wreck. This left my father to take care of his 4 siblings as well as my grandmother at a very young age. I have been back to the house that he grew up in recently, and it remains very much as it did then. A red ranch house with a weathered barn off to the left nestled at the base of piney 3 mountains, sitting on about a 6 acre lot. At the time that this particular story takes place my father was about 10 years old and the eldest of a family of 5. Marlene, my aunt was about 6 years old and mean as a rattlesnake. behind the house in a small pen several goats were kept not really used for food, some were pets others wre "Nanny Goats" used for milking. It was a cool autumn evening, and the sun had just set on the old rusty tin roof of the rickety barn. My dad and the other children were in their Pajamas and ready for bed. Baw lay with his tawny muscular body stretched across the front porch of the old house, eager for his night of sleep. As my father and the other kids lay just drifting off to sleep, something happened. Something was killing one of the goats behind the house, and the goat was letting everyone within a mile know it. Marlene woke up screaming, and my father raced to the back door. Within a second of the receeding noise coming from the dying goat, Baws paws were tearnig what little red paint was still on the floor of the porch off, He raced around behind the house, which now was lit up like a stadium. My grandmother screamed to the kids to not open the door. Reflecting in the light from the moon, as well as from the porch. Two huge glowing emerald eyes danced impatiently around the center of the pen. Terrified goats pressed against the pen, leaping on top of one another in an attempt to escape, Just then as the goats cleared the view, my father saw the biggest cougar he had ever seen sitting on top of the now lifeless goat, His claws dug deep into the goats body as he held the goats bleeding throat in his hungry mouth. In an instant Baw was clearing the 3 acres to the goat pen and making good time doing it. The cat had now efforrtlessly cleared the barbwire fence that surrounded the pen with the goat still in its jaws. As the cat stopped to readjust his grip on his midnight snack Baw slammed into the big cats right side. The cougar had not heard, nor seen the silent dogs speedy approach. Baw crashed into the cat snapping and growling. The cat let out a spine chilling scream, The impact of the dog shocked the cat so much that he jumped (From my dads account) 10 feet straight up in the air. When the cat landed Baw was right back on him, not giving an inch. Suprised at such faerless tenacity and not prepared for such an unpleasant interuption, The cat retreated back into the dark loblolly pines that hugged the property. Baw followed breifly and then returned without a scratch. The goat was dead but the rest were safe. And Baw was no worse for the wear. They heard the cat scream several more times, each scream growing further away from the previous. The next night, afer hearing what had happened, My fathers uncles set out with Plotts and lanterns, and apparantly the offending cat was promply treed and killed. Baw lived to be about 20 years old and this was but one of his many stories that entertained my developing mind as a child. I hope that you enjoyed it as much as I did!

I take great pleasure in sharing stories. I have an abundance I can assure you! :D :D :D

You will experience a whole new world in the outdoors my freind. Thats for sure!