A Dog Day

                                          

In the spring of 1976 I was sent to Kirbyville, Texas to relieve on a Track Supervisor position. A Track Supervisor patrols an assigned portion of track in a hyrail pickup inspecting the track, right-of-way, bridges, etc. and manages the work forces on that territory. This particular territory ran from Kirbyville, Texas, to Oakdale, Louisiana.

It was the second week of this particular assignment and I was beginning to feel comfortable with the territory and the people who were a part of it. I was hyrailing down the track on a beautiful, peaceful morning and as I came around a curve I slammed on the brakes and came to a quick stop. There in front of me was a dog in the middle of the track. Someone had chained the dog to each rail and there was no way for it to clear the track.

Of course the dog was frantic having seen the headlights of my truck coming around the curve directly at him. I got out of the hyrail truck and slowly approached the dog, speaking softly with my hand out in a friendly gesture. The dog continued to struggle, pulling at the chains, twisting and fighting to free himself. I stopped a few feet from him and squatted down, continuing to speak softly. After about ten minutes the dog began to settle down enough to where I could pet him. When I felt that he was calm enough I started to unchain him.

Suddenly he looked up over my shoulder and began to growl. I stood and turned just in time to see a rather large man walking from behind the pine trees directly toward me. He yelled something about what the hell was I doing with his dog. I told him it was none of his business unless he was the idiot that had tied the dog to the rail. He said something about he would take care of me too as he rapidly closed the distance between us.

I guess it was because he was in such a hurry to get in my face, but for some reason he had apparently not noticed the pick handle I was gripping in my right hand. Well, anyway, as I was helping him exit the railroad property, I felt certain that he understood my disdain for animal abuse and that if he was ever seen on railroad property again charges would be filed.

I finished unchaining the dog and we walked to the hyrail truck. I opened the passenger door and he jumped in and sat in the front seat. As we hyrailed down the track he just sat there looking over at me every once in a while as if wanting a little reassurance. He was just a plain old hound dog but had a regal aura about him and deserved a loving companion. I had no idea what to do with him.

We hyrailed on to the next depot where we stopped, shared my sandwich and laid in the shade of the loading dock for a while. The local train crew walked by and visited with us and played fetch with the dog. Before leaving the depot, I called the Hawkshaw (Santa Fe Police) and reported the incident, except I don't think I mentioned the pick handle. He said that he was pretty sure he knew the man and that he would keep an eye on him for a while.

 For the next two days the hound dog hyrailed the territory with me and stayed in my motel room at night. He was quite a companion. The next day was Friday and I was going home for the weekend and I had no idea what I was going to do with the dog. We stopped at a depot to make a phone call or two. The local train crew had rolled into town right behind us. The conductor, a really good feller, walked up and started petting the dog and him-hawing around until he finally asked what I was going to do with the dog. I told him that I guessed that I would try to find someone to give him to before I left for home. A big smile came to his face and he said, "You found  someone, I would be happy to take him and give him a good home."

Come to find out, the old conductor had just lost his dog to age about a week before. It's sure nice when stories have happy endings.