Keka

Keka was the most interesting dog I ever had. I was married when we got her. We first saw her as a puppy. She was to be a wedding gift to Gail, my wife’s friend from junior high. Gail’s sister must have wanted a puppy, that puppy, for herself, thought the gift was better than anything else she could think of. The puppy was adorable and grew to be a beautiful dog, but she was a husky, a traveler. The sister couldn’t have known that Gail’s husband was a little bit crazy even then or that he fiercely disliked the idea of someone picking a dog for him.

We rented Gail and Tom the house we’d bought, with great financial contortions, the last weeks of the college semester before we went away to summer jobs in Telluride. Before we got back in late August, we’d acquired our first dog, an English Setter named Dirksen with curly hair on the very top of his head. He was named for the Senator from Illinois and once you thought about it, the resemblance was uncanny.

Dirksen had grown up while my wife’s brother and his wife lived in a mountain house west of Denver. The first time I met my future sister-in-law, Dirksen showed off by propping a hot dog in a vertical position between his outstretched front paws as he lay on the floor. The dog then proceeded to almost daintily eat the hot dog in small bites from the top down.

Sometime after that Dave and Ali moved to town and Dirksen’s nocturnal ramblings began to cause problems. When they came to see us in Telluride, they left the dog with us. Our boss approved enthusiastically.

Judy and I came back to Boulder after an amazing summer. We had our dog, and were almost immediately offered another, about six months old at the time. We accepted. Gradually it came out that Keka was not a welcome member of Gail and Tom’s new family. As she grew, she was alternately allowed to wander, then chained for days to the tree in the front yard. The house had no fences. We heard a story that Keka had been seen in both Boulder and Nederland, at least a dozen miles up into the mountains, on the same day. If it was true I suspect she got a ride part or all of the way.

We didn’t exactly allow Keka to wander, but we didn’t build a fence. If either of us walked with her, she’d explore but returned to us frequently. Once she got to the east side of Boulder, and in conjunction with a Black Lab, killed a sheep. Keka was caught and we paid. She made no attempt to evade the sheep’s owner. She probably thought she’d done a good thing. We blamed it on the Lab at the time.

After nearly two years in Boulder, Judy, pregnant by then, and I moved to an old homestead cabin two miles south of Bigelow Divide about forty miles west and south of Pueblo. We had both graduated from CU, saved money, and gave ourselves a summer off. It was a wonderful time for me – I wasn’t pregnant – but if I’d had it to do over again, I would have tried in early summer to get a job starting in September before we settled in to the marvelous old cabin.

By that summer, 1970, I was running regularly and took the dogs with me. Our landlord had 400 acres and was our nearest neighbor to the north, about a mile-and-a-half away. Baver-Li Lodge, about a mile-and-a-half to the south, was another place we could go to make an occasional phone call. The two places were on different phone systems.

In most ways it was a paradise for the dogs. We liked it so well that we decided to rent it year round, and the rent dropped from $50 to $30 per month. After what seemed like a lot of job searching, I got back on with CF&I in the Industrial Engineering Department. I commuted for quite awhile, but Judy was alone all day so we moved to town but kept the cabin.

At that time neither Pueblo hospital would allow husbands in the delivery room, and we didn’t know for sure where we’d end up at the end of the summer so Judy chose a team of obstetricians in Denver. Our daughter was born December 7 of that year. We moved back to the hills the next summer. We used to say that our daughter’s first word was Moo. Cows did come close to the window near where her crib was.

We stayed in that cabin three summers so I’m not sure which event occurred which summer. During one of them Keka killed three or four half grown raccoons. A little creek came near the cabin and a few willows grew along the bank. Usually dogs don’t have much chance against raccoons in water, but these were not adults and the water wasn’t deep.

Keka was involved with lots of animals. Once when we were walking up on a grassy hill above the cabin we came on a badger. Keka didn’t exactly attack but she got close enough that I was worried. She didn’t get hurt, but neither did the badger. Porcupines were another matter. She’d gotten into one in Boulder and had spines coming through the bottom of her mouth and tongue. We had a vet come to the house, sedate her and pull them out. When that happened again in the hills, Judy drove Keka to town to a vet. After that she mostly left porcupines alone,

Then there were cats and skunks. She killed several of each in her lifetime. While we were living in the cabin, she set off for an unusually long adventure. We were made aware of it when our landlord came down to tell us that he’d gotten a call from the Billington Ranch, nine miles away by road, where a dog answering the description had killed some chickens and a cat.

I hope I had a better excuse than cowardice, but Judy was the one who went to investigate. Mrs. Donley was gracious, wouldn’t take any money for the chickens and pretended to not mind about the cat. I’m not sure why but that was the last time Keka killed a farm animal.

Her first skunk kill came later. We had moved to Rye and Keka went with me when I went out for a run. We were coming down Bartlett Trail when we came upon a skunk going the same way. Keka left the trail instantly, passed me and as neatly, but not odorlessly, as something like that can be done, dispatched the skunk.

If you’ve ever been close to a skunk when it sprayed, you know what it feels like. In my experience it’s not so much a smell as an overpowering shock that goes way beyond smell. Keka’s first skunk kill started us on our journey through various folk remedies. I can tell you that tomato juice doesn’t work, vinegar doesn’t work. Leaving the dog outside for six week and not getting too close almost does.

I will tell one more skunk story that doesn’t involve killing. When we still lived in Boulder, we answered a knock on the front door one evening. Our neighbor who lived all of 50 yards away was in his pajamas with his car idling in the street in front of our house. He came to complain that the dogs were bothering the skunks under his old garage, which had no foundation and the smell was bothering him. I’m sure we brought the dogs in the house, and tried to keep from laughing.

Let me interject that I know I was not a responsible dog owner in those days. I don’t approve of allowing dogs to wander, especially those who are known to kill other animals. We lived in pretty remote places and I certainly didn’t expect the encounters I’ve described.

Keka mellowed as she got older, but sometime after September of 1976 when we moved to a house on Dittmer, she killed a skunk in City Park a half-mile or so from our house. Luckily we had a fenced back yard. We probably tried the same failed skunk spray cures. Keka never minded cold weather and stayed outside until we could tolerate her.

I have lots more Keka stories but this may be too long already. She was my companion on many runs and some cross country ski trips. She was always gentle with people, including our daughter from the time she was a newborn on. Keka died at the age of 14. She had gotten deaf and crossed the street in front of our house to chase a squirrel. She didn’t hear the car that killed her.

Jeff Arnold