OT -- magnum's Legacy

[Doc Hudson]

Magnum's Legacy
by This one also first appeared on www.earp.com in 1998 or 1999. I originally wrote it with a very different twist, but marcia, Big Johnn Delavan, and Wyatt all thought that it was too dark so, I rewrote the ending.

The strident, nerve shattering klaxon-like blaring broke the predawn quiet. With a mumbled curse, Mike Paterson slapped the alarm clock into silence. Sleepily, he rolled toward the other side of the bed, only to find it empty, just as it had always been since Marie's death a year ago. Mike stretched, and reached for his first cigarette of the morning, and began to cough. Since Marie's death the previous year, he'd restarted smoking, he didn't care much about his health any longer. He stared into the darkness, slowly bringing himself in to full wakefulness.

As he lay blowing smoke rings in the dark, Mike thought back on the past eleven months and twenty-nine days. In just about three hours, it will have been one full year since Marie's Jeep Cherokee had been smashed by an out of control logging truck. It had been a tough year for Mike. But then again, Mike had a reputation for being a "tough old bastard." He'd certainly been tough on the two young hoods that had broken into his home the night after Marie's funeral. Mike had unloaded some of his grief and rage on a much younger man, while his Great Pyrenees Maggie mauled the other one. Both of the would-be burglars had spent a long time in the county hospital before going to the state prison for an even longer visit.

Some said that "Iron Mike", as his employees called him, had not even shed a tear at his wife's funeral. If that were true in public, it was not true in the privacy of his home, and in the company of his dogs. Mike and Marie had been unable to have a child, and the dogs had just naturally assumed the role of "children." Without the affection and devotion of Maggie, and Velcro, Marie's Yorkie so named for his semi- permanent attachment to her lap, Mike would have fallen into despair. With them, he hoped he might yet regain the old joy of life.

The Velcro's muffled whines, and Maggie's soft woof's convinced him that he really did have to get out of bed once more and face another day. Mike slowly climbed from bed, pulled on pants and shirt and stumbled his way to the kitchen-den. When he opened the bedroom door Velcro darted through to again search the house for Marie. Mike started the coffee pot and gave his Great Pyrenees, Maggie, an ear scratching while Velcro made his ritual and always heartbreaking search. He then put both dogs out in their fenced run for their morning constitutional.

He poured a mug of coffee and shrugged on an old jacket before going to the dog pen to feed his Brittany Spaniels, Tinker and Belle. Both dogs were ecstatic to see their master, and gave every indication of wanting to make an early morning run on the local quail. Quickly filling the food and water bowls; Mike took time to play a minute or two with his prized bird dogs. "Aren't you frisky this morning? Bet you want to go to Old Man Watkins place and flush a covey don't you? Well, you're just going to have to wait until Saturday. I'm too busy to play hooky today. I'll see you this afternoon."

On the way back to the house, Mike replayed the running argument he and his hunting partner Scott Gladwell had been rehashing for years. Mike frequently scolded Scott for letting Magnum, his big Golden Retriever to run loose. Scott felt that his dog had a right to be as free as any human. "Hell Mike, ol' Magnum's got just as much right to run loose as a person does. He's got more sense than my brother-in-law, and he's prettier'n my mother-in-law!" Mike tried to reason that in spite of Magnum's intelligence, he should still be confined for safety's sake. "You and Lisa don't let your kids run wild without supervision! Dammit Scott! It’s dangerous for Magnum to be running loose. He could get hit by a darn car or stolen." They seemed cursed by fate to never to agree with one another on the issue.

Back in the house, Mike turned on the Weather Channel while he rattled around in the kitchen preparing breakfast. Mark Mancuso's regional forecast and the local forecast calling for rain and heavy thunderstorms set
him to swearing again.

"Damnation, I got half the roof off M&M Manufacturing! If they get rained on it's gonna cost me a fortune. Jim Meyers has been raising hell already about that delay yesterday. Like I really wanted Rusty to turn over that truckload of roof panels! Guess I'd better go by the shop and pick up some tarps, and straps."

Mike hurriedly gulped down a sketchy breakfast and dressed for work. Before leaving, he scooped up Velcro from Marie's chair for a quick cuddle, and ruffled Maggie's ears once more before rushing out to his pickup.

The big Ford Crew Cab roared to life, and Mike sped off into the slowly breaking dawn. Mike didn't bother with his seat belt. He didn't believe in them.

Five miles down the road; Magnum was sleeping under Scot Gladwell's Chevy Suburban. As he dreamed happily of flushing quail, and the bang of his master's shotgun, an infinitesimal sound caused his ears to twitch, and a whiff of scent set his nose to snuffle. A moment later, Magnum was on his feet and alert. Ears cocked, and nose high, Magnum searched for the source of the hated sounds and smells.

Ordinarily, Magnum was one of the friendliest dogs you'd want to meet. But, there were two things in the world that he hated with all his mighty heart, coyotes and foxes.

Despite of his conviction that Magnum should be allowed to run free, Scott Gladwell had no qualms about keeping his chickens confined. Both he and Magnum waged a constant war on hen house marauders. On this brisk
November morning, a fox had disturbed Magnum’s sleep.

Magnum was downwind of the hen house, and determining that the fox scent was coming from the chickens neighborhood didn't take quantum physics. Magnum quietly went to work stalking his prey. So quiet was his
approach he almost closed his jaws on the busily digging fox before his presence was noted. Instantaneous terror lent speed to the fox. Darting and changing direction often, the fox raced around the barn and headed for relative safety of the woods south of the highway.

Mike Paterson was planning his day and had only half his mind on the road as he hurried to his shop that morning. He was figuring how many tarps he would need to protect the unroofed area, and wondering how much roofing he would be able to install before the rains hit. He was so involved with thinking; the flash of red grey as the fox darted across the road startled him. A fraction of a second later the hurtling mass of red gold that was Magnum caught him still unprepared.

In the split second before impact, Mike fought the wheel hoping, praying, to avoid it. His brakes screamed as he jammed the pedal to the floor, and the transmission grated as he geared down. The rear end began to fishtail, and Mike fought for control. With a sickening thud, Magnum's muscular body smashed into the grill. He flew fifteen yards down the road to land in a crumpled heap.

Mike's skid continued into a full spin. He left the road and smashed to a halt against a large oak. Bleeding profusely from a cut over his right eye, Mike climbed out of the passenger door of his truck and limped hurriedly to Magnum.

Scott and Lisa Gladwell were awakened by the crash. Lisa grabbed the phone to call the State Trooper office, and Scott rushed to the accident site. When Scott got to the road, he found his friend sitting on the pavement with
Magnum's shattered body cradled in his arms and crying as if his heart were breaking. Over and over, he repeated, "I'm sorry old buddy, I wish it had been me instead of you. I wish it had been me instead of you."

*********************************

A year later Mike drove into the parking lot at Deke Moore's Hunting & Fishing Supply and parked next to Scott Gladwell's Suburban. He needed a case of shotgun shells for the upcoming quail season and wanted to try again to bargain Deke down on a nice little Spanish 20 gauge double in the used gun rack.

As Mike entered the front door, he could see Scott and his new Golden Retriever, Dusty, at the coffee corner. He could hear Scott lecturing two of his cronies. "Dammit boys! It just ain't right that you let your dogs run loose. Why, I'd no more let Dusty run free than I would my own children. Fence is a darn sight cheaper than loosing a good dog." And spotting Mike, he added with a grin, "Or a real friend."

Mike just shook his head and headed off to drool over that little Spanish double again.

[fordwannabe]

Doc, I love reading your writings. I am there, in the moment as the story unfolds. Real nice. Thank you! Tom

[JB]

I thought it was going to me about "Magnum P.I."

[madman4570]

Very Good Stuff! Well Done Doc Thanks!

[Birdman]

Good story. Thanks

[JReed]

Darn dust.

[DixieBoy]

Doc - I liked it too. Realistic characters with real problems, and a moral to boot. Good stuff. - DixieBoy