The Stunt Dog Training

STUNT DOG DEMONSTRATION
I was with Jackson when he gave a most remarkable and unexpected
demonstration. A sparkling summers day, late summer when unrelenting
heat is spent, giving way to more amicable conditions. This enticing
California morning came with early brightness, promising rewarding
exploration along forgotten mountain trails.

Monday morning, when Jackson chose to break his chains of bondage and
confound the evil slave system that so inhibits true expression from a
free spirited artist. He called in sick. An interesting paradox it
seemed to me. Use the telephone to call the phone company then tell
them that you are sick, therefore unable to work and maintain the
telephone system. Anyway! With freedom thus ensured for a day at least,
he determined to take some photographs. No not mere "photographs" but
images, poignant affirmation of life in a California desert town.
Jackson was my friend. I accompanied him on his artistic voyage. My
work ethic was never called into question. I work Saturday. I take
Monday off. A simple convenient arrangement.

Jackson had a dog. A fine old fellow who was delighted to break routine
for a few hours and participate in our photographic odyssey. So it was
then. Jackson, myself, various cameras all necessary photographic
equipment and our good companion Old Red the pit bull terrier. Off we
sailed on that fine clear morning to meet whatever challenge lay
ahead.

Must have taken about half hour or so driving along quiet country roads
before we would reach the little turn out where the mighty Chevrolet
impala would anchor safely until our return. The old car was a monument
in Jackson's life. A mechanical paragon of reliability and unwavering
service. Oh a little battered perhaps. The dark red paint somewhat
faded in places. There, beneath the rear window a small hole covered
with a band-aid. A reminder that possible "world champion thirty eight
caliber pistol shooting marksman" Jackson was not infallible. A
charitable man would ignore the battered exterior of the old cruiser.
For beneath a shabby overcoat beat the heart of an eight cylindered
champion.

We fussed with equipment for a few minutes and released Red. Before
his temporary freedom could begin, it was necessary for Jackson to
deliver a stern lecture on social responsibility. Red grinned amiably,
having received similar directives as daily routine for many years.
Jackson shaded his eyes, gazing at a distant hill and considered the
prevailing light. Old Red lifted his leg and pissed happily upon a
small sage bush. So! Into the hills we went. Slowly along dusty upward
climbing trails. Slowly, for Jackson to continually survey his position
ever searching for the unforgettable panorama that would surely be
revealed. Red on the other hand with no interest in any grand vision
scampered ahead delighting in his unexpected freedom.

I believe it was an hour at least before we stopped for a break. French
bread adorned with thick, crudely cut slices of sharp cheddar cheese. A
bottle or two of cool dark beer definitely enhanced our simple
snack.
Now there is a quality of stillness in these high desert hills and
canyons. Echoes of living perhaps from far distant times when Indians
lived in these lands. Neither oppressive or unwelcoming, just gently
reminding that before twentieth century arrogance and intrusion, others
traveled these same trails that we were walking upon. And so we sat for
a while in peace, each of us absorbed with our own thoughts.

I reached back lazily through five, six years or so to a time when
Jackson and I first met. Just a chance meeting, discovering with some
surprise that we lived within two streets of each other. There were
many shared interests, mutual love of photography, an abiding interest
in firearms, fishing and a fascination for the history of the great
American Pit Bull Terrier. Now at that time I happened to share my
somewhat limited house space with eight of these much-maligned animals.
Two adult "yard dogs" and a sudden influx of ten-week-old pups. Six
rough, noisy, belligerent and lovable little babies that I now found
myself responsible for. Suffice it to say that the house was
overflowing with dogs.

My newfound friend took a male pup from the litter. A sprightly
intelligent animal, bright yellow eyes and a dark red, rust colored
coat. For several days Jackson pondered, rejected many alternatives,
studied with intense concentration before arriving at a suitable name.
With a defining stroke of originality he decided to call him Red. Time
to move on. Remembrances of years past now gave way to keen regard for
narrow sandy trails waiting ahead.

We reached the crest of a rounded hill. Simultaneously it seemed we
stopped, each for our own purpose. To my left, rough sloping ground
dropped away steeply to reveal a clearing several hundred yards below.
A small truck was parked there tailgate down. Distant but unmistakably
came rippling sounds of music, chattering voices and laughter.

Jackson glanced quickly below then held his left hand in front of his
face, fingers spread in a gesture reminiscent of a traffic cop at a
busy intersection. His interest was not in the clearing below but the
scene before him. About ten yards ahead a natural gully perhaps ten
feet deep and probably several yards wide. Beyond that, the terrain
smoothed with short dried grasses and a few blackened tree stumps.
Uneasy reminders of a great fire that sweped through these hills a few
years ago. In the middle of this somber field rose a jagged outcropping
of sandstone rock. It was the stony monument that excited Jackson's
interest.

Our soon to be award winning photographer shrugged the pack from his
shoulder, and with unflinching gaze intent upon the rocky vision ahead
bought the old Nikon to his eye. Dropping to one knee, switching to the
other, flat on his stomach, up on his haunches. Certainly, a perfectly
framed photograph would eventually be recorded if; on this occasion he
had remembered to load a roll of film.

I looked away from such athletic demonstrations to the truck below. A
red shirt and a brown shirt could be seen, little else was revealed at
that distance.
Red shirt waved several times. I waved back to acknowledge the
greeting. It seemed that both shirts were now moving steadily upward,
in our direction.

Old Red spotted that distant movement, heard their music perhaps and
decided to investigate the source of this disturbance. I grabbed him
about his shoulders, calling to Jackson to pass me his lead. Red is an
amiable fellow wishing harm upon no living creature. Except, possibly
the neighbors cat across the street. However from previous encounters
with nervous people and enthusiastic Pit Bulls, constraining Red until
our two visitors had arrived was a favorable course of action.

Jackson came lead in hand and with a flourish passed one end through
the hand loop and attached the snap to Red's collar. I stared at the
lead that Jackson held. His hand passed through the slipknot that he
had just formed. To what purpose though? There was already a hand loop
to hold. Let me have him I said, Ill take him until you have finished
shooting. Jackson grinned. "No problem, watch this". "I trained him".
So saying Red and Jackson walked purposefully to the edge of the gully.
Jackson bent down, pulled the loop wide and slipped his left foot
through the noose pulling the lead tight about his ankle. Red was now
secured to Jackson's leg and sure enough the dog lay quietly beside his
master. This unorthodox method of restraint had presumably worked to
secure Red on previous occasions. My vague misgivings were probably
unfounded.

Two figures came slowly into view. A woman, red shirt with a boy, brown
shirt. I smiled she smiled back. Attractive forty ish, the boy perhaps
eleven or twelve.
"Hope we are not disturbing you". Her voice husky, slightly out of
breath. Red turned and smiled, everyone smiled except Jackson who,
immobile with the camera to his eye was probably not smiling.

So now dear friends all pieces are surely in play and the end game is
revealed. Two hikers, two strangers, one Pit Bull Terrier. A moment of
stillness, great silence like a lake of quiet water, calm with dark
peaceful mystery stretching before us. But there is one more player to
meet in this great drama. I started to reply that my friend would only
be a moment or two. As I spoke the last piece on the board was
revealed. A sudden rustling and snapping of twigs, a short cry of
surprise from the woman as a large gray, white jack rabbit bounded
across our path seemingly to materialize from beneath her feet.

Red hurtled like a flame of vengeance after the disappearing
rabbit.
Jackson's left leg became momentarily horizontal, parallel to the
ground like a ballerina or martial arts expert. His shoe flew into the
air. The lead instead of tightening around his leg as intended, was
wrenched instantly over his ankle. There was shouting, cursing flailing
limbs and a small cloud of dust. Jackson disappeared from our sight. If
only a flash of light, a peal of thunder perhaps to signify his
departure. But no. The only reminder that he ever set foot in this
quiet place was a cheap tennis shoe and a small backpack.

I stared at the woman for many seconds. Her mouth was moving but no
sound escaped her lips. The boy, transfixed with joy and admiration was
grinning like an idiot. He was the first to speak. "Oh cool, way cool
did you see that mom?" "Did you see the way he did that? Did you see
the dog?" "I just knew they were stunt men". "That dog was trained
wasn't he?" I nodded in reply. Oh yes I said, he was trained all right.
My friend trained him personally. Please excuse me for a moment though;
my pal may need a hand.

Peering over the edge of the gully about eight feet or so below,
partially obscured by sparse stunted desert vegetation, could be seen
the wreckage of a once proud, potentially award winning photographer. I
scrambled down to the thorny bushes where Jackson was struggling to
stand. The boy followed close behind me. My friend now standing half
erect must have appeared to all the world like an evil enraged troll.
Coughing, grunting half crouching covered with dirt and leaves,
bedraggled hair covering his face. The kid babbled excitedly unaffected
by such a horrifying vision.

He extolled many heroic virtues of Jackson's daring leap. "Oh that was
so cool mister, will you be doing it again today?" Jackson turned his
head slowly, stared at our enthusiastic visitor for several long
seconds. He wiped away blood from his nose with the back of his hand.
He meant to say, "Go get the hell away kid" but trying to clear his
mouth from dirt and grass it sounded as if he mumbled "gd day kid." The
boy grinned hugely. "Your Australian? Oh that's too much, my mom was
born in Australia". "Yeah" he continued, "I gotta go tell her that you
are an Australian stunt man". Up the side of the gully he scrambled to
relay the joyous news to his mother.
I thought Jackson was going to cry. I passed the canteen from which he
rinsed his mouth and splashed water into his face. He glared at me with
fury. "You sonofabitch he said, "you push me over the side then tell
that moron kid im an Australian stunt man? What the hell is wrong with
you"? Took me a while to explain. It was necessary to repeat various
details of the event several times before he could accept that old Red
had committed such an unthinkable act of betrayal and hurled him into
the abyss. I sympathized, told him how glad I was that he was not badly
hurt. Well?.my innocent remark uncorked a further tirade of
indignation.

"Hurt! Oho no please. Everything's just fine," he said with heavy
sarcasm, and continued?"Hell my ribs are broken, my nose is busted, my
hip is dislocated my mouth is jammed with sand and shit and there is a
goddamed cactus sticking out my arse". "Oh no everything is just great
with me". Well how about the camera then? He glanced down at his
faithful Nikon swinging from the shoulder strap. "Looks OK, probably a
lot better than I am". Handing him the canteen again, I suppressed the
desire to tell him that the lens mount was bent beyond redemption and
went to retrieve his shoe.

The shoe was found the easily enough, just a few yards from the where
Jackson preformed his magical disappearing act. He was not alone in his
ability to disappear though. No sign of our visiting mother and son.
And suddenly came the worrying memory of Red the vanishing Pit Bull.
Jackson was reunited with his left shoe. I walked behind as he made his
way with some difficulty to the top of the trench. There we stood for a
minute or so when he pointed to the brow of the hill.
Mother red shirt with two boys in tow. Two little red shirts now, for
she held the lead that secured our highly trained stunt dog.

Jackson was temporarily distracted by a grand vision of revenge. Red
and the rabbit. Both secured with chain around their testicles,
suspended above a boiling cauldron of tar. All too soon the veil of
fantasy was replaced by reality. The merry trio was upon us, mother and
son contributing much laughing and chatter.

Introductions were made. Mary told us that she had come with her son
Larry to finish a school nature observance project. They were intending
to grill a burger and hot dog or two when Mary realized that neither of
them had any means of lighting the coals. "Yeah" said Larry. "We hoped
you might have matches or something".
"Soon as I saw mister Jackson with his dog I thought you guys were from
the movies". He continued excitedly. "Just something about the way you
were leaning with the camera". "But when I saw you dive over the cliff
I knew you must be stunt men".

Jackson placed a fatherly hand on the boys shoulder. "Well son, used to
do a lot of training like that. But now I just like to keep my hand in.
Out of habit I suppose. Not stunts for movies though, my training was
for the real thing". I stared at the re invented Jackson. Found myself
listening to tales of bravery and devotion to country. No longer a
featureless installation engineer, pathetic slave to the phone
company?.But now?.. Super Jackson. Fearless operative for a special,
most highly secret branch of the US government. Young Larry was lost in
admiration, listening to every word with focused attention. Mary with
her head slightly tilted in an attitude of confusion and disbelief, was
probably not convinced. "Did you work together". Larry looked at me
wonderingly.
No I confessed. The government is far too scary for me. I am just not
tough enough. I mean I have seen the training they require for their
special agents.

Mister Jackson had to sit in an ant's nest for half an hour without
making a sound. They stuffed his mouth with uncooked broccoli, made him
run across a meadow in his underwear and threw old shoes and vegetables
at him. Then they poured gasoline on his socks and?Jackson glared
furiously, waved his hands up and down to end further description of
secret agent qualification. I shook my head. "Larry" I said. I didn't
even make it past the ants nest."
The lad glanced at me quickly, smiled a fleeting, condescending smile
as if to acknowledge and forgive the weakness of a lesser man. Mary
suppressed a slight giggle. "It was a wonderful demonstration," she
said slowly.

We chatted for a while, then by mutual agreement walked together in
pleasant bantering camaraderie down the slope to Mary's pickup. A small
respite, relaxing for a little time to savor burgers and hot dogs while
enjoying the most pleasing company.

I wanted to carry on, at least provide some exercise for the two
vintage cameras that I carried. Of course Jackson really could not
continue although he protested otherwise. Mary came with a simple
solution. She elected to drive the battered Jackson to his house. I
would pilot the old Chevy and at my convenience exchange vehicles.
Probably down a beer or two and commiserate with my old abused
friend.

I stared after the truck as it slowly found a path leading to the road.
A cloud of gray dust eventually obscured the vehicle as it prepared to
confront civilization again. Strange how quickly the surroundings
returned to emptiness and quiet with no echo of others talking.
I was not alone though. Red was to be my companion for the remainder of
the day. And a good companion he was during this time of unhurried
wandering. We were free to realize our freedom, if only for a small
while. For these few moments we were no longer squeezed between the
thumb and finger of other peoples schedules. Must have been five hours
at least before we returned to Jackson's house.

By the door bell a piece of paper folded several times and taped to
the door. A note telling me that Mary and Larry had gone to dinner with
Jackson. Also instructions to find and replace the front door key, and
would I please leave Red in the house.

Now the small manufacturing company for whom I worked accepted a
tendered bid from the government. This required me to work many
overtime hours for the first six months of contract. I saw little of
Jackson during that time, little of anybody else come to think about
it. And as the weeks faded into months with summers pleasures soon
forgotten, came winter suddenly approaching.

Jackson came even more suddenly approaching. One morning about six, as
I made ready to leave for work. Uncharacteristically he refused offers
of coffee and toast. Something was not in place, no idle insults or
chatter. Suddenly I knew. Old Red was gone. His dear companion had
died. I put my arm around his shoulder.
I truly am so very sorry I said. Jackson stared at me for some time. "I
truly am so very sorry as well" he replied. " I truly am so very god
dammed sorry that you are such a miserable, deluded, asshole".

All was instantly well with the world again, for the righteous,
obnoxious, indignant and surly Jackson of old had returned. Then Red is
ok? I asked. "Yeah of course, he is doing just fine, as a matter of
fact he is looking a lot better than you ever did". "Can't seem to
reach you any more," he continued. Decided to drop round to see you,
tell you that I am getting married". You can't, I mean you don't know
any girls. I stared in disbelief for several seconds before a coherent
conversation could resume. I grabbed his hand and shook it vigorously.
That's fantastic, congratulations when's the date. Who is the
girl?

Jackson grinned, moved from one foot to the other, giving an impression
of embarrassment or guilt. "Well"?.A long time elapsed it seemed,
before he continued. "As a matter of fact old buddy Mary and I decided
to get married." Mary? I ran through a mental list of Mary's that we
had known. No Mary of any possible marrying potential registered with
me. I stared, oh Mary, hey Jackson that's, great but when. He rolled
his eyes toward the ceiling shaking his head. "When was the last time
we got together, last time I saw you?" He asked. Being unable to
recall, I shrugged my shoulders. "Remember that desert hike months ago?
Remember when I fell down the embankment? Do you remember Mary?"

Suddenly the images were recalled. Oh yeah, course I remember, old Red
kicked you into the ditch and that woman and her kid took you home.
Jackson nodded and sat down. He continued "we have been seeing each
other, dating for three or four months now. We both decided to get
married. Thought perhaps if it is a formal thing maybe you would be
best man".

I realized that at least an hour had evaporated in pleasant
reminiscing. My friend pushed himself up from the chair and walked
towards the door. Gotta go, then he paused in thought.

Turning back he stopped for a few seconds then said "how about next
Wednesday"? "You and me both sick on Wednesday. Into the desert, take a
few pictures eh"? I nodded. Sounds good to me pal. Meet at your place
in the morning; pick up old red and head on out? Jackson smiled. "Give
you a call this evening then, bout eight"??????..