Ol' Laz
(Laura's Miracle aka "Lazarus")
written by Tom Farmer
When he
turned one, I decided I needed to know what he was made of.
Was he a real bulldog or just another dog?
So, I asked a friend if we could try my dog on a wild hog he had
captured. He agreed, so we set up a
time. I had the hog in a round pen,
so I opened the gate and led Laz in on leash.
As soon as I closed the gate, I released Laz and sa
id,
“catch him boy.” I didn’t have to
wait long to find out about my dog because Laz went over to check out this
strange looking animal that he hadn’t seen before.
As soon as he got close enough to get a whiff of the critter the hog
woofed and lunged at him at the same time. We’ll from the pig’s point of view
that was a mistake because Laz moved like a cat bouncing to his right out of
harm’s way and then back to the fight like a prize fighter catching that hog on
the left cheek putting the pig in squeal mode and a bulldog smile on Laz’s face.
“Good boy Laz, good boy,” I said as I slipped the deer antler between his
jaws and broke him off the pig. I
was holding him by the collar as the pig jumped up and ran around the pen glad
to be free but I’m not sure if that hog had a get back problem or a moment of
temporary insanity because as he circled that pen, he woofed and charged us
again. I thought now that’s not a
good idea as I turned Laz loose and said,
“Catch-im boy!”
Laz took off full bore meeting him head on in the middle of the pen with
the same results as the first time.
Pig squealin' and Laz smiling with a happy tail wag to boot.
Not a good day for the pig.
I guess he was insane cause they say the definition of insanity is doing the
same thing over again and expecting different results.
As I led Laz out of the pen that day I thought yep, got myself a Bulldog.
We
had many more adventures over the years most were good but a few not so much.
Like the time, when he was about seven months old my wife happened to
look out the window just in time to see Laz playing tug of war with what laundry
was left hanging on the line and the rest of it strewn across the yard.
After I acquainted Mr. Laz with the daily newspaper across his posterior,
he never wanted to play that game again. I guess you could say he was a quick
study.
Over the
years I have enjoyed archery hunting for whitetail deer, and I have been blessed
to have taken many, which provided food for my family’s table.
Having Laz around made it all the better because any archery hunter knows
that you drop very few deer in their tracks with a bow and arrow.
You almost always have to track them down because they cover a lot of
ground in the 10-15 seconds it takes them to bleed out. Such was the case one
fall morning when I shot a nice fat doe.
I had set up my climbing stand up on a friend’s property a few miles from
my home. That morning as I sat 30
feet off the ground the doe came slipping through the woods just as I had
planned.
I took the shot and watched as she ran out of sight through the thick cover. I took my time searching for blood but there was little to be found. My shot was a little off the mark for what ever the reason and the ground cover was making it difficult to see the small amounts of blood that were there. I decided to leave the track long enough to go get my trusted hunting buddy, Laz.
Arriving
back at the hunting spot I placed the tracking collar on Laz and dropped the
tailgate on the truck. Laz knew
what we were about to do when I placed that
collar on him cause the only time, I used that red collar was when we were
tracking deer. As soon as I pulled
it out, he would start wagging that tail as if that was the best day of his
life. It was a good one for him and
me, because I enjoyed him working the trail.
I led him to where I made the shot and called him to the blood I had
found. I took a couple of steps in
the direction the deer had gone and said, “look, good boy…go find him”.
His ears were alert, as he listened to my command, his eyes staring
intently ahead. He immediately put
his nose to the ground taking a deep whiff of deer scent and fresh blood.
He began moving quickly in the direction I was walking, passing me in
short order. Down the trail he went
jumping over debris and stopping on occasion to look, listen and sniff the air.
He was a master at getting down wind of an animal then zeroing in on its
location even when the blood trail was not that good.
After a minute or so of him working circles and figure 8’s as most good
dogs do, he had trailed my deer to a fence where we had to find a place to
cross. After getting over that
hurdle he headed due east in thick cover and was soon out of sight.
I continued walking that direction picking my way down one trail then
another still moving east and looking for any sign of my deer.
I hadn’t seen Laz for a few minutes, so I stopped to listen.
I always figured that if he trailed up a wounded animal, he would catch
it and I would hear the commotion.
As, I stood there listening I saw movement about 50 yards ahead and realized it
was Laz working the back trail. He
came closer until he spotted me at which point, he stopped and looked at me
intently. He then turned around and
took a few steps away and looked back as if to say, "Would you come on, I’m
trying to show you where it is and it’s going to spoil if you don’t hurry up!'
Well sure enough he had found it and led me right to it.
I reached down and rubbed that big ol' head then patted those thick
shoulders and said, “Good boy Laz, you're a good boy. You did it again
man…you're a good boy.
We
made many memories, me and Laz, and he never showed any sign of brain damage as
medical science would claim. You
see, when he was just a day or two old my sister Lynn (the breeder) returned
home from church to find one pup missing.
She looked around in the whelping box but could not account for all the
pups. She searched more intently
looking around the whelping room, but it was no where to be found. She finally
got the Momma dog to stand up. Much
to her dismay, there was the missing pup.
The momma knew the pup was in trouble and trying to keep it warm and had
laid on it. The pup had been dead
for a while as it was purple around the muzzle.
It was mashed flat from the weight of the mom and was cold…just like
death is. My sister being a woman
of faith picked that pup up and shouted at the Devil.
You’re not going to steal what my God has given to me. She began to
command death to leave that pup and asked God to restore life to it in the Name
of Jesus, (that is what Jesus brought to earth you know, Abundant Life).
At the same time, she began rubbing that pup and telling it to wake up.
She then blew into its mouth and told it to breath.
Nothing happened for over 40 minutes. She continued to pray and rub and
blow as she commanded death to leave and life to return.
Then it happened. A gasp for
air. “Thank you, Jesus” she
exclaimed. More rubbing, more
blowing, more praying and more thanks to the giver of life.
There was another gasp, followed by a short breath and then another and
another…as life was returning to his cold dead body.
At the first whimper the momma then had to see what was going on and they
were reunited to live again. The
pup was soon nursing as the momma nuzzled and licked her pup all over.
The whole ordeal took about an hour from the time Lynn found the pup, but
we have no idea how long it was dead.
That is the account of my furry friend’s miraculous beginning and the
reason he was called LAZARUS. I
named him the day I picked him out, named after Lazarus, the man, that Jesus
raised from the dead. Now when we
call the dog, we remember the words of Jesus.
“Lazarus, come forth.”
Over
the last 11 years ol' Laz, came to a few conclusions of his own.
The first one was that his number one purpose was to guard this house and
this yard. There was no doubt when
someone or something, that didn’t belong, showed up because he had a bark and
then he had a BARK!!! The bark
meant something was out of place and the BARK meant someone is in my space.
As the UPS driver told me one day.
“I see a lot of dogs everyday and I just want you to know that if you
didn’t have your yard fenced that big brindle Bulldog would bite me.”
The mailman said, “as long as the doggie treats hold out all is good but
as soon as they run out, he is all business.”
I never knew that he bit anyone but most folks thought he would.
Like the day my friend showed up at the house unexpected.
I was working outback in my shop when I heard Laz take off in a streak
with his BARK on. I looked around
the corner just in time to see Laz closing on Jeff, who in his own words was
looking at a mouthful of teeth and a whole lot of bristle.
I shouted at the top of my lungs, my go to words, when I needed Laz to
stop something. “NO LAZ” which caused him to freeze in mid-stride.
If only parents could teach their kids the meaning the word ,NO, what a
wonderful world it would be. Any
way, I rescued my friend from the Jaws of Death that day and the color
eventually returned to his rather pale looking face.
Over the last few years Laz
would follow me out to the shop, and I would leave the back yard gate open on
purpose. Ol' Laz would check everything out for a few minutes and put his mark
on anything that he deemed necessary. In a bit I would notice Laz would be gone
just to return a little while later.
I began to watch him, and realized the second thing he knew was that
nothing was going to enter the front gate and nothing was going to bother me
without going thru him first. Laz
would position himself on the little hill on the south side of the house where
he would have a clear line of sight to the front gate and down to the shop where
I was. He would only leave his post
for a few moments to see where I had disappeared to inside or behind the shop.
Then it was back on duty keeping a watchful eye on everything under his
charge. The third thing that he knew was that he had all the time in the world
for someone that wanted to pet him and rub those ears.
He was especially happy when my grandkids would come over and spend hours
playing with him and trying there best to rub all the hair off him.
He loved them all.
I
am asked quiet often if I think there will be animals in heaven to which I
respond as my cousin, Lemuel Miller, does.
Well, I don’t know for sure, but this is what I know.
My Lord created them, so he must like them like I do.
The Bible tells us when Jesus comes back, he will be riding on a white
horse. So, I won’t be at all
surprised, when I make it to heaven, that I will spot ol' Lazarus sitting on a
little hill with a clear view over his charge and watching the Pearly Gates,
waiting for me to come over and pet that great big head one more time.
Until then we will all miss him.
Lazarus of Laura Kennels
Just a Good Bulldog
2008-2019
Tom's grandson, Brydon with Laz