Dick the Bruiser

"In loving memory of Dick the Bruiser, one of my American Pit Bulldogs."

He had a heart attack on May 12, and another on May 13, which took his life. On May 12, I was working him, even though he was 9 1/2 years old he was unusually strong, and ready to do anything I told him to do. When he had the first attack, he laid flat on his side. I sat by him talking to him for 30 minutes, then he rolled over on his stomach and appeared to get over it. I gave him his last two commands of several hundred that he always obeyed regardless if they pleased him or not. He always wanted to do what I told him, "get up old buddy, and lets go", which he did. He went to his place and ate about half his supper. The next morning he had another heart attack and was gone.

He was the only dog that I ever saw my wife cry about, but to her he was the only one that ever lived, as he saved he life on a number of occasions.

One time she was picking up Pecans below the barn and a man was coming up on her with a gun from off the river. Dick made quick work of him and his gun. In the same pasture we have a calf feeder, my wife was going to feed the calves, Dick ran ahead of her. There was a very large red wild dog waiting on a calf to come in. Dick took care of him also. About an hour before he had gotten another wild dog, a black and white on that was headed her way. Another time they went to the barn, and one was hiding under the loading shoot, she walked right by him, but Dick killed him. One other occasion he got the dogs before they got her.

I must stop and explain that we have packs of wild dogs that will kill a man if he gets in their territory without some protection, or some way to get away. They have attacked lots of people in this country. Some on horseback, and the horse would out run them. Some would attack men on tractors, and some have been attacked close to their homes, and even in their yard. All my dogs are bred to protect their master, but Dick was one of the best I ever saw doing it. He was always with my wife, so he had lots of opportunities to do so.

He saved my life when three black wild German Shepherd dogs attacked me, or started to, but Dick got the dogs first. Without help I would have been killed. After he killed more wild dogs than any one dog ever has in these parts, I started training some other dogs to help him. I saw him whip six wild grown German Shepherds at one time, and the smallest of them was as large as Dick was. I bought a .30-06 rifle and started helping him also. I have killed them within 20 feet of me, coming right at me.

One of my neighbors, while I was gone, saw a pack of wild dogs go into my pasture and he got old Dick to go after them. They went over a small hill and was in the middle of them before he knew it. He shot one and Dick was fighting three more when one slipped up to my neighbors back and was about to get him when Dick saw him and broke away from the three and grabbed that dogs just before he got my neighbor. My neighbor had to run off and leave Dick fighting four dogs as he went to get some ammunition for his gun. As he passed my place he turned Lady Tuffie loose, and when he got back there was only one wild dog left and Dick was chocking him to death. Dick was known far and wide as a great dogs and people came from other states to get me and my dogs to go kill their wild dogs for them.

Pound for pound there has never been a better dog that walked God's green Earth than 'Dick the Bruiser'. He loved cake and cookies, also flowers, so he is buried with his head against a bed of peonies with a butternut tree for shade.

Of all the great dogs that I have owned, Dick has a special place in my heart. I always cry when one of my dogs dies, but it took me over a year to be able to write this story about him. Every time I started, I could not see for the tears in my eyes.

I have six of his daughters and one of his sons left that I am keeping. His bloodlines will be in my dogs for a long time to come, but there will never be another just like him."

John D. Johnson

Dixieman

"Had another pretty good dog named Dixieman of Alan Scott.  (Buster to all who knew him.)  Ya know Buster was the first and only, as far as I know, Grand National Dog Show Champion.

Buster was quite a dog.  He'd work cows like a Cur Dog.  He would circle and bay and catch when you sent him.  I could put Buster up in the back of my pickup and slap the side of the truck, tell 'im to watch it, and he wouldn't let nobody around it.  But if I didn't pat the side of the truck, anybody could crawl all over that ol' truck.  He wouldn't bother you, wouldn't growl or nothin'.  But if I told 'im to watch it--you couldn't get near it, he'd eat you up. 

One afternoon in the fall of 1978, I went to check my cows and took Dixieman along with me.  Well, the neighbor's bull, a brangus which would have weighed in excess of 1,600 pounds at the time, was in our pasture.  I started to run him back across the creek, but he had different plans. The old devil turned on me. 

Well, needless to say, I headed for the nearest tree.  As I was approaching it at a very rapid pace, of course, Buster heard the commotion and came running.  He caught the bull by the ear.  I didn't especially like for him to catch he ear, but at the time, I didn't give a darn where he caught the S.O.B. (sweet old bull).

Well, the battle had started and the bull tried to hook him off his ear, but old Buster just stuck to him.  Buster fought him until the bull went down on his knees.  I whistled and told him to drop the bull.  The bull got up, looked around and headed for the creek with Buster right behind him.  When he reached a scope of woods, just before the creek, the old devil decided he wanted some more and turned to fight again.  You heard about WW1 and WWII, well I got to see WWIII. 

Buster whipped him again, and the bull headed for home with Buster right behind him!

When they went into a creek, the bull started up a bank that was too steep.  When he turned to come back, Buster caught him again.  He pulled the bull's head under water, and when  he came up, he blew water out of his nose.  I bet he went six feet back up the same bank again--this time to climb out.  When he got out, Buster stopped the chase and came back to me as if to see if I was all right.

We finished checking our cows and went home to tell my wife about WW III."

Alan Scott