The Story of the Two Dogs

Now here is my second favourite story by my Dad. It remains a powerful story for me and is easy to remember in detail – seeing as how when he was “happy” he sometimes would forget that he had told the story many times before. But then, that is what daughters are born for – to spoil their Daddy’s into thinking the sun rises and sets where they stand or sit.

Here is how it went: Once upon a time in a cabin in the woods lived an older man who was known as Turner. He was content being alone from human company, however he had two dogs – one was pitch black (called appropriately Evil) and one was the purest of white (also appropriately named Good).

Every Saturday, Turner would amble into the nearby village and bring his two dogs with him. These dogs, by the way were fighting dogs (a topic I really don’t like to get into and when I was old enough to realise what fighting dogs did had to wonder for a moment about my Dad.)

Nevertheless, everyone in the little village knew Turner and knew that every Saturday, he would be meeting up with his buddies, who also had fighting dogs. They would stand around talking and sharing stories and beers, smoking cigarettes and watching women walk by.

And for some reason, every Saturday one of the men would always set up a dogfight. Everyone would bet on the dogs and every week Turner would win the bet. No one could figure out how this happened. Sometimes he would fight with the white dog, Good, and sometimes with the black dog, Evil. And he would always win whether he bet for or against his dogs winning.

How Did He Know?

So everyone began to try to figure it out.

One day a young girl was walking through the woods where Turner lived and stopped by for a glass of milk and a cookie (long before little kids weren’t allowed to ever speak with a stranger and long before it seemed there was any true danger with grown up men and little girls.) She started coming by often and they would sit on the stoop of his porch and watch the butterflies and the humming birds competing for flowers.

He taught her about wood lore and how to fish; they became good friends and since Turner knew her folks it was OK because it was sort of like glorified babysitting for her parents.

Turner loved to tell stories and to pass on his wisdom to this young girl. One day she was watching the white dog and the black dog laying in the sum sleeping. She had never been afraid of the dogs, and would play with them for hours on end. But Turner had told her that they were fighting dogs, so she had great respect for the two hearty-looking dogs.

Since everyone knew of his amazing luck at knowing his dogs’ fighting abilities, her daddy one day asked her if she could find out the secret to Turner always knowing which of his dogs would win or lose in the weekly dog fights. So she asked him one day how he always knew which one would win.

His answer was simple. “The one who wins on Saturday is the one I feed well during the week.”