Hey Howdy Hey: Menagerie Memories

Often on my travels up Stemple to get firewood or to just go for a drive, I pass by the little red cabin where I first lived when I first moved to Lincoln in the early 90's. It's that first little place on the left after you cross the bridge over the Blackfoot River.

Each time I drive by I have a different memory of it. Back when I lived there it was owned by Jackie Schmutzler. When I had first moved in, I did not have a pet until I think his name was Don Bergum - my memory sure isn't what it used to be, but I think he had a son named David, I'm not sure - had a dog named Jake that they needed a home for. Jake and I were inseparable.

Not too long after that there happened to be a little cocker spaniel that got dropped off in Lincoln and, since the owners were nowhere to be found and no one else could take her, I gladly took her in. I had said if I ever were to get married and have a daughter, I would want to call her Ashley. So as time went on, my little family was beginning to grow. Jake and Ashley went everywhere with me. Often, they would ride in the back of my old '69 Chevy pickup as I drove to town to get them an ice cream cone at Mom's Drive Inn. I know dogs are not supposed to have ice cream, but an occasional baby cone didn't hurt them.

Then, as a little time went by, my great friends, Steve and Rhoda Burke had a little pot-bellied pig named Hopsing. Well, they needed a home for him. I would always remember them bringing Hopsing down to the Wilderness where I worked, and he loved to drink beer. He would drink it right out of the can. Miller Lite was his beer of choice. Any who, the next thing I know, Hopsing was moving into my little cabin with Ashley, Jake and myself. That little pig was not a pig anymore, he was a dog. I had a big yard and when a car would drive by my place with another dog in it, Jake, Ashley, and Hopsing would run out barking at the car. Hopsings' barks were actually loud grunts, but he was just one of the dogs.

So, when it was time to load up and head to town for an ice cream cone, there was yet one more passenger riding in the back of the truck. I'm not sure if pigs are supposed to have ice cream, but Hopsing made it disappear quickly and he would always smile at me with his big ice cream mustache.

On some occasions, when Hopsing would mysteriously disappear, I would always find him two places over from me at the county shop. They had an open bag of grain over there that he liked to go help himself to and I would always have to go over and herd him back home. Francis Beehler would often call me to let me know Hopsing was there.

At some point, I had put in a doggy door so Hopsing could go in and out. When Hopsing lived with me, he did not get the beer he was often used to getting, but I do remember one time I had some old Keystone Lite in the fridge. I had poured a couple into a bowl. Hopsing quickly drank them down. He was drunker that heck and staggering around and grunting at me. Next thing you know, he was snoozing on the couch. I had to run to town and when I got home Hopsing was nowhere to be found. I was hoping to find him at his favorite get away spot and sure enough there he was sleeping on the big pile of grain. It was quite a chore getting him back home. The next morning when he woke up, he was under his blanket grunting at me with his big hangover.

As time went on, I took in more critters. Two big floppy eared rabbits that some other folks couldn't keep. And then there was Charlene. The place I lived had a big chicken coop in the back and the first year I was there the owners brought in these chickens they would raise to slaughter. This one particular time they thought they'd slaughtered all the chickens, but they forgot one. She became my pet chicken, Charlene.

Note: the chicken and the rabbits didn't sleep in the house. I did take in critters of all shapes and sizes. One time I went fishing for crawdads at Nevada reservoir. I heard if you boil crawdads, they tasted similar to lobster, so I had to try it. I remember being out there and I think it took me most of the day to capture these little creatures under rocks and such. By the time I was done, I had names for all of them and when I got them home, I could not eat my new friends. So, I put them into Hopsings, Mr. Turtle swimming pool where they lived for a whole month and then they died, so I ate them. Poor man's lobster.

I could go on and on about my wonderful life out on Stemple road, but before this turns into a novel, I better quit writing. Hope this little story brought you a smile.

Stay healthy and God bless.