Country Connections
By James and Ellen Perry

“No, No, Tip,” is from a 1940s -1950s primer school book called “Tip and Mitten.” Tip was, as best I can remember, a devilish scatter-brained puppy who romped and played as most puppies do.
Tip was a boy dog puppy who was scolded for his antics. Tip’s buddy was a kitten named Mitten. Those primer books were written by Paul McKee, who was a professor at the Universities of Iowa and North Colorado. Tip was my first dog encounter.
My next and first real dog encounter was in 1951. My dad had been given a cocker spaniel pup about half grown. I can’t remember his name. Our whole family loved that pretty dog. Daddy said it didn’t have a lick of sense. He was right as the dog committed suicide by walking under a falling tree dad was going to use for firewood while clearing for a new pasture. Our family took losing that dog hard.
Our next line of dogs were shepherd mixes, all with white rings around their necks and other body parts brown or black. Daddy had bought 150 acres that bordered Norris Lake and went to the top of the ridge. The land was mostly trees, so daddy had to clear land for livestock and crops, also a garden and a fruit orchard, using a double bit axe, a mattock and a one man saw. Daddy ran across a lot of copperheads and rattlesnakes as well as numerous non-poisonous snakes.
With four boys from 3-7 years old, he started training snake dogs. He always picked pups, all shepherd mixes with white rings around their necks and train at 8-10 months of age to kill snakes. He would hunt and capture large black snakes at least six feet long. He built a training box that he would put the snakes in.
When the pup was ready, he would put the dog in the training box with the large black racer. The snake had no use for the pup and would attack the young dog. After a few days the pup would get tired of being bitten by the snake, take matters into his own paws and kill the snake.
After being released from the box, dad had a trained snake dog. Every new snake dog would be bitten their first summer by copperheads. We could hear the dog yelp when bitten. Their heads would swell up and they would slobber for a few days. We never had a dog die from a snake bite but they were miserable for a while. Over the years there were dozens of copperheads killed by daddy’s snake dogs from our yard to our fields and roads. Thank God for these dogs as no one in our family suffered a snake bite.
Our next dog of notoriety was a small feist we called Plut. Plut wasn’t much of a dog and was claimed by my brother, Larry.
Plut laid around, played around, would not hunt rabbits and squirrels, but would eat every biscuit he could find. Plut almost met his fate one morning. Larry and I had to milk two cows before school. So, we were driving the cows from the field to the barn for milking. We had a good jersey milk cow and a half Jersey-half Gurnsey who had an attitude.
Plut started to snap at the Gurnsey’s rear hoofs. The cow was watching and caught Plut about one foot in the air and timed her kick. Her foot caught Plut between the eyes. Plut was suspended in the air stationary for about two seconds, then fell to the ground. Plut lay there with his eyes open staring straight ahead motionless. Larry started to cry, saying “Plut is dead!”
About five minutes later his tail twitched. His jaw shut, his head moved slightly and Plut arose on his legs a much smarter dog. Plut never helped round up the cows again.
Our next dog of notoriety was a vagabond shepherd that wandered in one late spring day. He fit the look of a snake dog, so daddy let us keep him. He was a gentle dog who watched over and followed us boys wherever we wandered on the farm.
We loved that dog although I can’t remember what name we gave him. He was a great dog but had one bad trait that daddy did not put up with. He was caught by dad sucking eggs.
He would raid the chicken nest. Daddy loaded him in his truck with us boys crying and took him off. Daddy let him out fifteen miles north on Highway 33 a few miles south of Tazewell. When daddy drove back home there was no dog with him. Us boys mourned that dog for two weeks.
Then one afternoon here this dog came up the road home. We all except daddy hugged and petted the dog, got him food and water as he had lost quite a lot of weight walking back home. Daddy said that he could stay.

The next dog was also a long-haired shepherd mix that wandered into my life and my home near Dothan, Alabama. I can’t remember what our three boys named him, but he was a good dog with a easy disposition and took to our boys from the start.
Our house was just off highway 52 on a dirt lane. Anytime the boys were playing in our yard he would keep them from getting into the road. He would get between them and push or pull them back toward our house. If anyone came into our yard we would know it.
The next dog that wandered into our lives we kept for only one week. We had sold our home east of Dothan and bought a house and 40 acres south of Dothan, a half mile off of highway 231, which was a route to Panama Beach, Florida.
One afternoon a small silver haired female poodle wandered into our lives. We could see that this dog had been pampered as it had been given a ’do. We could not keep her, as we had been given a female collie by my brother, Larry. Her name was Lady and Lady did not accept another female being there.
Well, I ran an ad in the Dothan, Alabama newspaper wanting to donate this poodle to a good home. The first to respond was a matronly lady who was living alone as her husband had died. I let her have the dog. We had phone calls for the next two weeks from people who wanted a small poodle. I should have gone into the poodle puppy business.
Now Lady, our female collie, was one of the best dogs. She was never “fixed” so she had 4 litters of pups while we had her. I raised a large garden at this time and had a half acre of watermelons. I’d pick a 40-pound melon, put it in ice water to cool it and Lady and I would eat the melon together. She was the only dog I’ve ever seen who loved to eat watermelon.
One afternoon my wife, Ellen and I were walking to our mailbox through our front field with grass to our knees, when Lady came by me growling and bumped me to stop me. There in front of us was a rattlesnake that would have bitten us if Lady had not warned us.
My .22 cal. pistol loaded with 0039 cci shotshells took care of that rattlesnake.
We kept a pup from one of Lady’s litters. The boys named him Pup Pup. Pup Pup turned into a good dog. When grown Pup Pup would catch wild hog piglets and bring them to our house and drop them near our back door as if to show us he was contributing too. Pup Pup got bit by either a cottonmouth or rattlesnake in the woods behind our house. I heard him yelp and about 30 minutes he staggered into the back yard. His head was already swelling and he’d started drooling. He recovered after about a month.
One spring, Pup Pup followed me to the two-acre garden. A storm came up so we started back to the house. Pup Pup walked up to a light pole ground line and brushed by it. There was a loud crack and Pup Pup grounded the line and got knocked for a loop. He regained consciousness about 15 minutes later and from then on he would not walk within 30 feet of that light pole. Pup Pup had plenty of mishaps but remained a good dog.
Another vagabond dog was a black labrador that wandered to our home south of Dothan. He was a beautiful dog with a good nature. After about three weeks a pick-up truck pulls up the driveway. The man said the dog was his and wanted to take him home. A week later here comes the black lab up the driveway. The next day here comes the pickup and carries the dog home. After this the dog did not return. He lived two miles from us.
Booger-Booger was a beagle who thought he was a wolf. We raised Booger from a puppy and he ruled the home. Booger loved to ride in my old red Ford pickup, especially in the bed. When riding with me he wanted to stick his head out of the right-side window. Booger was killed by a pack of dogs hanging around a female dog in heat.
Meka-Meka is our son’s dog. Our son built a house near ours after returning from the 82nd Airborne. Our middle son Jerald gave Meka to him about eight years ago. She is still queen of both houses and keeps stray dogs and cats away. Meka is also a bear dog by profession. Since Meka has been here, there hasn’t been a bear near our two homes. She has a sweet tooth and likes oatmeal cookies only from Walmart. She comes to our front door every morning for a treat.
Dogs are loving animals, very dedicated to humans and bring a lot of pleasure to us. Like the Kentucky Storyteller Tom T. Hall wrote in these lyrics, “Old Dogs and Children and Watermelon Wine” are the only things worth a continental dime. How true.
See you next month.