Classic TAZ Adventures
Note of Recognition
Cabin fever is hard to catch here in Southern California. The weather is nice most of
the year. However, a recent bout with the flu, and tight holiday schedules, have
precluded us from making Dog Park visits. Taz has cabin fever. He sulks. He mopes. He
tears up lots of little things. He destroys his toys. He roars about the house as if
driving a Formula One racer in the Grand Prix circuit. He gets lonely.
Finally, a window of opportunity arrives one morning, so Taz and Missy are loaded into
Robbi's truck for the trek to the Dog Park. Elvis decided to stay home and mope.
Upon arrival, Taz is brought out first and taken the 100 feet from the parking lot to the
gate. Missy absolutely goes ballistic. Skillfully honed and incessantly practiced in
tandem with the constant parade of paramedic vehicles, fire engines and police
cruisers that zoom and wail at all hours in our urban locale, Missy has developed a piercing
Banshee scream that cuts through the air like a sharp knife. Being used to her
“anguished†shrieks, I went about my business of getting Taz through the gates and into the
Dog Park.. Once inside, and Taz was released to play, I looked up.
Time had frozen. Fifteen dogs and twelve humans all stood stock still, stopped in
the middle of running, drinking water and frolicking. Conversations halted.
Cigarettes poised half raised to lips. All eyes, all faces, canine and human were staring at
the bone chilling cries coming from the truck. I smiled weakly and retreated to retrieve
Missy. Mentally marked as a monster by these people, despite the happy, tail wagging
dog I returned with, no one would converse or even look at me.
After going about my usual tradition of cleaning Ruach's memorial hydrant, I
turned to note that a number of huskies had arrived. Of eighteen dogs in the park, five
huskies and two Malamutes mingled. A young, unneutered pit bull provoked a few tussles.
He charged up and grabbed Taz by the neck. Instead of fighting, Taz began a friendly
trot, allowing the pit to canter along, jaws still firmly placed on the Sibe’s neck.
As Taz increased the pace in stages, the pup finally realized it couldn’t keep up
and disengaged. Later, Taz kept the pit busy by inviting a pursuit, then rocketing away
as the adversary gave chase. The pit bull fell for the bait each time, and soon
trailed off to the far corner of the park to rest.
One of the ladies owning a husky finally came over to talk. She explained that she
had recently gotten her young, female husky from her mother and was searching the
Internet for any information on the breed. After sharing with her about Sibernet, she
asked about my dogs. I pointed out Missy, describing her background as a foster dog. Then
I directed her attention to Taz. She stopped and stared for a long moment. "That
name sounds familiar." She looked hard at the Sibe. "He looks real familiar. Is
his picture in a magazine or on the Internet somewhere?"
I smiled sheepishly. "Well, actually, yes, he does have his own web site. But,
it's kind of a tongue in cheek sort of thing involving his alter ego; a husky named
Colonel Taz, who's wearing a uniform and sitting in front of an American Flag!" Her
exuberance was gushing over.
"Yes, that's Colonel Taz", I replied quietly. She could not take her eyes
off him. "So, that's Colonel TAZ!!" she spoke breathlessly, as if a major movie
idol or world leader had appeared. As for me, I simply ceased to exist. So much for
fame and fortune.
Now I know how the owners of famous dogs feel. Without looking in some dog eared,
obscure, trivia book, does anyone really know the owners of Rin Tin Tin, or Yukon King?
Point made. The tail has started to wag the dog. When Sibernet people have computer
crashes, the first thing many ask to recover are the Colonel Taz sites and Taz Adventures.
Recently, I posted a query, asking if anyone actually read these tales. Three
responses came in twenty minutes. Forty responses within twenty four hours from all over the
globe - Scotland, Brazil, Russia, Argentina, Australia, England, Germany, Alaska, the
Yukon, New Zealand, Switzerland, Spain, France, all over Canada and the U. S…and yes,
there was even a reply from Tasmania. All of them very enthusiastic about Taz and HIS
stories. I guess it's the message and not the messenger.
I could really launch into a tremendous pity party here. Talk about angst! A rescue
dog has outstripped me in fame and recognition. I've created a monster. Well, some
might argue he started out a monster. All I ever did was chronicle his profiles and
engagements. Personal biographer to a dog. I've gone to the dogs. Just bury my ego
along with that last pig's ear and so on."
I've ventured a break to check the day's U.S. Mail. Several Christmas cards for
Robbi, none for me.. And one for TAZ!!!...from Nevada!
Actually, Taz deserves credit. He created the happenstance. I merely recorded them
for him. It is a happy coming together of two creatures. It has resulted in something
of renown. Taz' recognition carries its' own special reward and gratification. As
for myself, I feel privileged to be given the ability, not only to see, envision and
write these tales, but to find a pearl of wisdom to share and personally take to heart
when I take up my pen for these stories. Some may say such composition skills are a
gift. That being the case, I see it not as a gift I have, but one to give and share.
Taz, and his personal servants, Scott and Robbi
"DOG: A kind of additional or subsidiary Deity designed to catch the
overflow and surplus of the world's worship."
--- Ambrose Bierce
A chapter from the book Dogged and Determined by Scott Ski
TAZ Adventures © Scott Ringwelski (Scott Ski)
All rights reserved
Want to see more? Visit ScottSki.net
<vbr>Scott A. Ringwelski <vbr>Prov. 29:18 <vbr>"The people without a vision perish..."
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