My husband and I purchased a circa 1850 Greek Revival house in Columbus, Mississippi in 2006. Columbus cannot be described as "sleepy" and it's certainly not to be confused with the Columbus in Ohio. The old part of town sits innocuously on a bluff over-looking the Tenn-Tom River so that if you're new to town, you might not even notice it's there. Its main attraction are the numerous antebellum homes that were left intact during the Civil War thanks to the local hero, General Nathan Bedford Forest, who chased, harassed and whupped-on Yankees every chance he got.
Our house sits on the river bottom 5 miles outside of town near the marvelous Columbus Air Force Training Base. I suppose some people would be bothered by all the intermittent air traffic but if you've ever seen a young, handsome dude in a flight suit, you'd forget about the noise. Anyway, the house is a beauty...four huge front porch columns with a gracious entry hall that extends straight through the house. It has a wonderful history...something I will write about at a later time.
When we first purchased the house, we had quite a bit of painting and renovating to do so every few weeks, I'd hop a plane from Maryland and spend long weekends tending to the tasks. On one such weekend in February of 2007, I came down with a double-whammy of bronchitis and flu. Flying home was absolutely out of the question. I was seriously hating life and feeling OH SO SORRY FOR MYSELF sitting in an almost completely empty house...alone with the ghosts. On the third day of my disease, I was sitting by the kitchen window basking in the morning sunlight when a movement outside caught the periphery of my eye. Coming around the corner of the house were two of the skinniest dogs I have ever seen that were still breathing. They were so pathetic they actually scared me...and I love dogs. Skinny, homeless dogs are not uncommon in Mississippi. For some reason, people here tend to leave their dogs "whole"...as in "not fixed"...particularly the males. In my opinion, it's a chauvinistic attitude that drives me WILD. Anyway, these two dogs were not just dogs, but hounds...foxhounds. The kind of dogs that I have known my whole life growing up in Maryland's horse and hound country. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I mean, what are the chances that two foxhounds would find me in Mississippi when, more than likely, the type of dogs to be found around here look more like Dr. Suess characters. In surprise, I literally banged my head into the window pane which, of course, sent the two foundlings running away like bats out of hell.
I mobilized quickly. Grabbing my coat, pulling on my boots and racing for the car, I had one destination in mind... Wal-Mart. I had to get some dog food immediately before they left for good knowing that this place offered them the same as other places...nothing. Hoping like mad that they wouldn't go far, I placed some pieces of bread in the driveway (the only food I had in the house...I'm not much of a cook) and sped away with a 102 degree temperature and polka-dotted pajamas.
Over the course of several days, "Mr. Bones" and "Sassy" were fed premium dog food every 3 to 4 hours in small increments. They wouldn't let me near them but I got close enough to see that even in February dogs can have ticks sprouting off every inch of them. Mr. Bones had a fat one dangling from his eyelid that I found particularly loathsome. It was pitiful watching them eat. It was pitiful seeing their fear. It was difficult to watch them shiver in the cold knowing there was no way to bring them warmth. I took comfort that at least they were not hungry.
Hounds are genetically inclined to sweetness. Even when they are afraid, they wag their tails. Mr. Bones and Sassy were no exceptions. Sassy was the bolder of the two. She was the first to come to a bowl and the first not to run when I approached. She had a beautiful voice that echoed sonorously in the piney woods at night when she'd go hunting a scent. She loved to hunt. Mr. Bones was just content to eat and to lounge and I could hardly blame him.
The day arrived that I had to get back to Maryland. What had started as a weekend trip ended up being almost ten days of convalescing. I had a business and teenagers to tend to and as much as I wanted to stay and protect my foundlings, there was no other option. Fortunately, when we bought the house we "inherited" a wonderful man named Larry Summerville who had been tending the lawn and overseeing the house for many, many years. Larry agreed to feed the dogs every day. I wasn't sure if they'd stay because it can get mighty lonesome in that river bottom....no neighbors and a little old road that leads to no where in particular. So, I gathered my things and as I was wheeling my carry-on down the brick sidewalk to the car, Sassy suddenly raced across the lawn straight toward me. I stopped. She stopped. Then, without warning, she dashed to my side and licked the back of my hand. She raced away. That "thank you" made me cry.
As the months passed, we were eventually allowed to hug and pet Sassy and Mr. Bones...tentatively. Treating them for fleas and ticks was an ordeal that rivaled wrestling alligators but this Mama prevailed. We were even able to take them to a vet, get them fixed, and get them vaccinated. And then one day, returning from Maryland, we were not greeted by two wagging tails and two wide-open grins. It was just Mr. Bones looking happy but very much alone. We never saw Sassy again.
Mr. Bones has been with us 5 years now. We brought down our other three dogs from Maryland this past September and when they jumped out of the car, I swear Mr. Bones looked at me as if to say, "What? You have a whole other family??" Although his solitary domain has been invaded, Mr. Bones remains humble, accommodating and as sweet as ever...especially at dinnertime.
Uncle Sam's Smokehouse
