Snow Dog Football!

We were having dinner last night at the home of our very close friends Scott and Kim. As is nearly always the case when we get together, we found ourselves visiting back and forth about silly stuff. I made mention about being old and ridiculous. Courtney, Scott and Kim's oldest off Spring, picked up on it and started laughing. We decided Old and Ridiculous would be a great title for a sit com, movie, book or perhaps broadway play eg: And now, playing at the Walton Art Center for three nights and three nights only, "OLD AND RIDICULOUS" starring, Russ Robertson and his ridiculous friends Scott, Doug and Joe!

It's possible we're on to something here. I've personally witnessed enough ridiculous stuff in my life to fill the pages of at least one small book, and some of these things happened way before I started getting old. Like the time I was playing football in our back yard in my home town of Rolla, Missouri, with our 200 pound Saint Bernard, Schultz (my Dad was a big fan of Schultz, the hapless and naive German POW guard on the 1960/70's sitcom, Hogan's Hero's). I'd throw the football as far as I could and we'd both race after it. If Schultz got to the ball first, he'd grab it up in his mouth and take off running across the yard. Pretending I was a defensive back for the Green Bay Packers, I'd chase him down and tackle him, or at least try to. Remember, Schultz was a full grown Saint Bernard and weighed a little over 200 pounds; I was a full grown 4th grader at Fort Wyman Elementary and weighed in the neighborhood of 70 pounds.
On this particular cold and blustery day in January, there was a full 8 inches or more of snow on the ground, which made our little game of "snow dog football" that much more fun. Schultz would run around kicking up snow behind him and I'd chase after him, diving now and then as we'd both go rolling in the snow. I remember laughing out loud as our big Ol' lummox of a family pet would run around weaving in and out trying to fend off his 70 pound adversary.

Well, our game was fun for a while, but as the old saying goes, it's all fun until someone puts out an eye. I didn't put out an eye, but at the time I would have probably chosen that as an option over what actually happened next. This time when I threw the ball, I was the first one to it. I grabbed it up and took off running in the other direction, back toward the house. I gave big Ol' Schultz a fake to the left and a fake to the right and he went for it both times. But as I was about to claim victory with a last minute touchdown with no time left on the clock, Schultz made a lunge and took both legs right out from under me. I went tumbling into a pile of snow and what should have ended up as a last minute victory for me, ended up as a last minute "lovefest" for him. As I hit the ground rolling in the snow, Schultz pounced and started going after me like a monkey humpin' a football. Normally that description would conjure up a humorous visual for me, but not this time as I found myself playing the part of the football. I saw absolutely no humor in it--none what so ever! I was kicking and yelling and punching and rolling and the more I fought to get out from under his massive body, the more he apparently liked it. The only thought going through my mind as our big Ol' dog loomed over me was, "If Steve Patton, Mike Watson or Jim Ballenger come along and see this, I'm dead. Once news of this story hits the play ground at Wyman, I'm done for and will never hear the end of it!"
I finally managed to get both feet under his chest (thank God no one got a snap shot of that) and pushed with all my mite. That little maneuver threw Schultz off balance just enough that I was able to crawl out from under him and jump up on the deck before he had the chance to get on me again. I was furious and completely humiliated. At the time, I doubt if I knew what it meant to be "violated", but years later when I did learn the meaning of the word, I knew I had experienced it first hand.

I loved Ol' Schultz like a brother but if I would have had a gun that day, I know I would have shot him right between the eyes. He finally cooled off and went about his normal daily activities of guarding our backyard from outlaws, do-baders and marauders. Thank goodness that was my last encounter with Cujo. I remember thinking that if I ever played snow dog football again, it would be with a stinking Chihuahua!

As I reflect back on that winter day in 1971, I can't help from thinking about a scene out of the movie "Christmas Vacation", when Eddie (played by Randy Quad) was giving advice to his cousin Clark (played by Chevy Chase). While referring to the habits of his "Mississippi Leg Hound", Eddie told Clark, "If he gets going on your leg Clark, it's best to just let him finish"!