Last summer, I built a board fence around my backyard, and despite its simple design, it was not an easy thing to construct. There were a hundred problems to face and overcome – a lot of them I’d anticipated and some I hadn’t.
There were property lines to find and posts to line up, stringers to level and dozens of decisions to make about style, lumber, nails, etc.
But among the difficulties I hadn’t counted on having when I set out to build Fort Hagarty was the neighbours’ pet, T.J. Dog.
Since she arrived as a pup in the yard next door, T.J. and I have been pals. A year ago, she used to be able to sit in the palm of my hand and lick my face. Now, I’d have to have a hand as big as a bathtub for her to be able to do the same thing. Still, she’s as happy and energetic today as she ever was and whenever she sees me, she goes into fits until I play with her, which I normally enjoy doing.
But the problem with all young dogs, I suppose, is that everything to them represents an opportunity to play. And so things weren’t any different when I spent a Saturday recently in the neighbours’ yard, screwnailing 150 boards to the new fence between us. It was all one, big day of fun for T.J.
Although her owners had wanted to tie up their pet for the day to keep her out of my hair, I convinced them she’d be no trouble. And so, for the next few hours, this big, black rambunctious mutt and I engaged in a battle of wills, which I realize in retrospect, we may have both won.
Every time I climbed over the fence, which was already tacked up, into her yard, even if I’d only left it five minutes before, T.J. behaved as if this was her first sighting of me in months. As I’d climb down the stepladder, she’d jump four feet in the air in greeting and we’d have to spend five minutes getting reacquainted. My only chance to get clear of her was to send her off in search of her ball.
In fact, getting her to fetch various articles, it turned out, was the only thing that allowed me to finish the fence at all. Every few minutes, she’d bring me her slobber-covered green tennis ball which I’d fire off into as obscure a place in the yard as I could find, hoping to get in a few more nails before my frisky companion returned.
And so, we settled into a routine. I’d drill in a few screws, wrench the wet ball out from between her teeth, toss it into some bushes, and put in some more nails. For variety, from time to time, she’d bring me an overripe pear to throw or a stick.
Somehow, the job got done. But it wasn’t easy. When she needed a rest, the dog would lie across my feet. On the odd occasion when I had to remove a board completely to straighten it before nailing, she’d stick her head through the opening and have a look around my yard. This resulted in a few exciting moments when I removed a board to see my cat sitting on the other side of the fence. T.J. saw her too, went berserk and tried to squeeze her foot-wide body through the six-inch-wide gap.
Other times, I would end up standing on the stick she brought me while I worked, unaware of its presence below my feet. Only after persistent tugging, would she finally rescue her prized possession.
But the biggest impediment I found to building a fence with the neighbour’s dog on the loose, were the sudden and unexpected outbursts of affection she lavished on me from time to time. Sitting on the ground, lining up boards and holding a power drill to a fence with a hundred pounds of dog painting my face with a tongue the size of a tea towel and trying to eat my nose, made me realize how right my neighbours were to offer to tie up their pet for me.
On the other hand, that was one of the happiest days I’ve spent in a long time.
©1991 Jim Hagarty
