You Rascal—You Really Didn’t Do That Did You?

In the summer between my 4th and 5th grade, we moved back to the farm and I had the opportunity to pick out a puppy from a local family who raised rat terriers. I picked out the most energetic one in the litter and on the way home he was a real rascal—climbing all over the back seat, and me, and my sister. He just would not stay put in the box we put on the floor for him.

Hence I named him “Rascal”.

He was my constant companion until I left for college. We did everything together. We hunted together, worked the fields, clearing weeds from the rows of corn and milo, and many other things—together. And we played together.

He was a very typical rat terrier. He loved to dig holes, loved to chase mice, and loved to snoop into anywhere he could stick his little head.

In every aspect he lived up to his name of “Rascal”. So this story is not about what I did, but what “Rascal” did, being a typical rascal.

Since it is winter here now, and we just went thru a stretch of some really cold days, I remembered what it was like in the winter on the farm while I was growing up. My dad would be the first to go out and start the morning chores, milking the cows etc. Then my mom and I would go out and start doing each of our chores.

In the winter it was my responsibility to take an axe and break up the ice in our stock tank so the cattle could have some water to drink. “Rascal” loved to help with this chore. As we approached the stock tank, he would make a mad dash, leap up on the ice, and slide to the other end. He loved doing that, every single day. If we would have had a pond I am sure he would have been skating all over it.

On one particular morning I am not sure if I was running behind, or my dad was ahead of schedule, but when “Rascal” made his leap to slide on the ice, he (and I) found out that dad had already chopped the ice. Can you imagine just how fast he got out of that stock tank?

It was about as fast I have ever seen him move, and I have seen him move pretty fast chasing mice.

Out of the tank he went, shook off the water, and gave me the funniest look I had seen in a while. Obviously he was asking me, with that look, “What just happened to the ice?”

So—he really didn’t do that—did he? Yes he did, and I couldn’t help it, I rolled in laughter. I wonder if anyone reading this is rolling in laughter right now too.

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