About forty years ago I was tuning a piano to the accompaniment of a constantly barking dog. The lady I was tuning for kept apologizing for the racket. I told her that I often tune pianos in school cafeterias with the students rioting, or, in piano stores with customers trying out nearby instruments. Noise does not bother me, I simply ignore it and concentrate on my work. I told her I felt sorry for her living next door to such constant racket. She explained that the barking came from a German Shepard that belonged to her next door neighbors. They left the dog chained outside, day and night, on a short four foot chain, very thick, and, padlocked around the dog's neck. The dog kept quiet when it's owners were at home, because, if he did not, they would beat him with a broom handle, or, burn him with lit cigarettes. People who lived on the block feared the couple and considered them crazy, so, none dared call the authorities about the poor dog's plight. A few of the men had once tried to turn the dog loose, but, were stopped by the padlock on the chain around the dogs neck. Also, the dog was extremely vicious due to his torments and tried to bite anyone who came near. There seemed to be nothing anyone could do for the helpless animal. I determined that I would rescue the dog. I would steal him.
I telephoned my wife Lois and had her drive to the dog's address to take photos of his surroundings while I finished my days work. We had a Polaroid Land Camera which developed and printed its own photos. It was normally used to photograph pianos for insurance appraisals. This day it would do reconnaissance duty. That evening we went over the photos and laid our plans.
The next day, when we were sure the dog's owners were away at work, we backed our piano moving van into their driveway parking as close to the dog as we could. We let down the piano ramp and opened one of the rear doors. We laid a trail of hot dog pieces from the dog's area, up the ramp, and, into the van. The entire time the dog was barking viciously, snarling, and bearing his ample teeth. The plan was that I would bait the dog with the hot dog pieces, he would start munching them down, and he would follow their trail up the ramp and into the van. At some point, I would cut the chain with a large pair of bolt cutters I had brought from our shop. Once the dog was in the van my wife would slam the door and we would drive off. The dog wanted no part of our plan. He did not want to eat the hot dogs. He wanted to eat me, or, at least bite off an arm or leg! I now worried that the heavy chain was not thick enough to hold him back!
My baby daughter Jane was with us, sleeping in the cab of the truck. Somehow, my wife got the inspired idea to offer the dog a jar of baby food. I removed the cap and used the bolt cutters to shove the jar within the dog's reach. He sniffed it suspiciously and stuck is tongue into the jar for a taste. If dogs can smile, he did!
Lois quickly opened another jar and soon had the dog eating out of her hand. She lured him up the ramp as I cut the chain. Once the dog was inside the van Lois set the jar of baby food down and jumped off the back of the truck as I slammed the door shut. We drove off with the dog raising all hell back in the cargo area! We had counted on the fact that no one would be home to witness our caper at that time of the day, and, it turned out, we counted right. The next time I tuned the piano for the lady who told me about the dog originally she said, "You won't have to put up with that barking dog this time. Somehow, he broke that heavy chain and ran away." I tried my best to look surprised.
My wife and I lived on a large farm out in the country. When we got home we just opened the truck door and let the dog make a beeline for the woods. We did not see him for a few days, but, could see that he was consuming the food and water we left out for him. Then, one morning, we found him sleeping on the back porch. He was now calm and friendly and I finally got the opportunity to cut the remainder of the chain from his neck. He played the part of a yard dog for the next few days until he wormed his way into the house and made his bed beneath Jane's crib. He appointed himself her body guard, and, even kept grandparents at bay until Lois or I ordered him to stand down. We never took him to a vet or got him a license, because, we feared his former owners might be looking for him. We never knew his actual name, so, we just called him Shep. He was my daughter's playmate until she was almost three years old. One autumn day he romped off into the woods, as was his custom, and never returned. We searched in vain. Jane vaguely remembers Shep. I'll never forget him.
