"Liver Lip"

Strange name for a dog.

I guess my dad had decided to call him this

because he had a big ol' sloppy mouth.

The dog; not my dad.

Allot of my earliest childhood memories

have to do with dog's mouths.

I suppose being a baby is all about mouths,

and what you can get into them.

Of course, this ranking 

at the top of child's

hierarchy of importance,

a dog's mouth would have 

to have been pretty impressive.

Especially Lip's.

When something out-drools you,

you tend to take notice.

Lip was a gun dog.

An English Pointer.

My father—an avid hunter—

was inordinately fond of

breeding, raising and training

gun dogs for sport.

These were working dogs.

Dogs with a purpose,

and yet, a dog's a dog.

They may have been a pack of 

keenly bred animals, 

specifically designed,

yet each was our pet.

Each equally appreciated 

a human's kind caress.

Some dogs were special though.

Some possessed such 

character and intelligence

as to make them stand apart.

Such was the like of Lip.

Now we're talking true intelligence here.

Not mere perceived intelligence.

Not circus poodle dancing in a tutu.

Lip was a thinking dog.

Of course there was one ‘circus trick’.

I had this aunt who was convinced

that Lip could tell his age

by barking it out in years.

She was duly impressed.

Little did she know 

but that Lip remained five years old

   every time she visited.

Lip always barked    five times.

No, Lip's true intelligence surfaced

by way of his ability to escape.

For years, it didn't matter what

cage my father put Lip in, 

but that he'd find a way to get out.

One year, my dad finally got 

Enough money set aside

that he could build a quality kennel

with full concrete floor

and a seven-foot chain link fence.

With this, we surely thought 

Lip's escape days were over.

But then it began again.

At first it was relatively simple.

Lip would climb to the top of his doghouse,

leap out to the top edge of the fence,

hang on, and climb over 

to drop to the ground.

No matter where you positioned the doghouse

within this pen, 

he could make the leap.

My father figured he could beat this 

by installing a length of fence 

over that portion of the kennel

beneath which the doghouse sat.

Indeed this worked for a while.

Weeks passed, and then suddenly,

Lip was getting out again.

We all had to scratch our heads at this.

My father would stand 

for long periods of time

waiting for Lip to make his move

and yet, the dog would simply lie there

atop his house and return the stare.

Some twenty minutes after 

my father would give up,

and Lip would be out again.

Finally, I came to the idea

that I would bust Lip's method by

making an long stealthy 

hike through the woods

to there come up upon Lip 

from the far distant direction.

Here, to spy upon him 

from behind an old shack.

It took some time, but presently,

Lip came out from inside his house,

climbed up to the top of it,

and there craned his head 

towards the family house

to see if anyone was watching.

Whilst doing this, 

his tail would wag

ever so slightly.

He was having fun.

Assured that no one was watching,

he looked up at the fence above his head,

and then raised up upon hind legs

to place his front paws 

on the mesh above.

He then worked his way to both

the edge of the house top below

and that of the fence above.

Shortly, both paws 

are on the outside edge

of the over-hanging fence, 

and a few seconds later

his hind legs leave the surface of roof.

Indeed, he's hanging mid-air 

from the fence wire.

His body contorts and presently,

one of his hind legs rises

to also catch the wire's outer rim.

With this, he heaves himself up

and loops around to stand atop

the span of fence.

I almost want to leap out

and commence to applaud and cheer.

Now, like a true circus performer,

he gingerly places

the pads of each paw across

the fence's wires

and makes his way

to the rim of the kennel

and drops the seven feet

to the ground.

After I watch him dash off into woods,

I stroll to the house

and proudly inform my father

of Lips achievement.

With this, my father drolly

rises from the kitchen table,

strides out to the kennels

and pushes Lip’s dog house

further under the overhanging wire

by a mere six inches.

Lip never again escaped a kennel.

A few years passed.

Both Lip and I aged.

I was still a young boy, 

but now, Lip was an old dog.

When my father called to Lip,

the old dog found it convenient not to listen,

and head off to whatever he was doing.

My father had heard

that all sophisticated dog handlers

were now using radio-controlled

shock collars to correct any

misconceptions a dog might have

as to who was in control.

Contrary to what you might be thinking,

these devices only administer a small

shock to the neck of the dog

and are far more humane

than the striking of a dog for correction.

Unfortunately, my father

could not afford one of these 

exotic radio-control shock-collars.

They went for well over 

   a thousand dollars.

One day my father came up with

the idea of making his 

own variation on this device.

He acquired an old Model T car battery,

and with a switch he dropped one wire

with a small weight to the ground

and the other end to an old dog collar.

This he eventually placed about Lip's neck.

Standing there now he called out to Lip

and told him to "come".

Lip ignored this and turned the other way.

May father dropped the weighted wire

to the ground and pressed the switch.

Lip yelped and all four feet 

came off the ground.

Apparently, this is where

he felt the voltage strike him.

My father called to Lip again

and with no reaction,

once more dropped 

the weight to the earth.

With a jolt, up came Lips feet.

I could not help but sadly think

as to just what was going 

through the dog's mind.

What was happening to him?

Why was the ground hurting him?

Again and again, 

my father pressed the switch.

Yes, I thought it was cruel.

Lip yelped and hopped across the yard 

Some seven or eight times 

until he came to stand

directly adjacent to

an old pickup truck we had

which had a running board

mounted at each door's entry.

My father shocked the old dog again,

and Lip ran over and jumped up 

onto that truck’s running board.

My father called to him to come yet again,

and there stood Lip ignoring him.

No wonder.

I'm sure his mind rather concerned 

with sensations rather more horrific.

My father drops the weight to the ground

and presses the switch.

Nothing happens.

He presses it again and still nothing.

The voltage cannot pass through

the rubber tires of the pickup truck.

Here Lip had won.

The dog had figured out

that the ground was hurting him

and he had to get up off of it.

True animal intelligence.

With this,

my father walked over to the truck

and placing the weighted wire against it,

pressed the switch

and sent Lip flying off the running board.

Having had enough, I turned

and walked to the house.

The next year

my father had to have ol' Liver Lip put down.

I seem to remember 

he spent that night

sitting in the kitchen 

with the lights out.

For some reason, this grown man

didn't want us to see the sorrow 

drawn across his face.

Ó99 Jack David Hubbell