Felix the Dalmation

February 13th, 2024

Felix the Dalmatian, February 13th, 2024

Way back around 1970 when I graduated from high school in Lincoln, Nebraska. Several of us hippies moved to Vermillion, South Dakota. I’m not sure why but housing was cheap in Southeastern South Dakota and there were jobs and plenty of fertile land to plant a cash crop as it were.

Baby D brought along his Dalmatian named Felix. Felix was named after Felix Pappalardi of the rock band Mountain.

Sky Blue Cage Bear Tom brought along his black Labrador named Mountain. Tom got his nickname because he was a big bearded guy who drove a sky-blue VW beetle.

Baby D (Dave) got his nickname because he was short and a petty criminal.

I didn’t have a nickname and neither did my friend Mark or the Hippie Chicks who came along and stayed for a while. Winters are tough in South Dakota.

Oh, that winter of 1971-72 was cold and snowy. Temperatures were down to -37f. We only had wood stoves to heat the huge yellow farmhouse that we rented from the farmer down the Bluff Road from us 1/4 mile.

We’d stoke the wood stoves in all of our bedrooms before bed and sleep with all of our clothes on but by morning the fires were out and ice was on the inside of the windows in our rooms.

We had no running water except for a hand pump at the kitchen sink. We shit in the old chicken coop. We did have a propane heater in the kitchen and kept the toilet seat above it to keep it warm. Then we’d grab the toilet seat, walk out to the chicken coop, and shit in a hole as fast as we could so our testicles didn’t freeze.

Our entertainment in the winter was waking up to watch The Rifleman at 2 PM on the one local TV station we received on the bunny antennae on the black and white television In the living room.

We ate lettuce sandwiches with Miracle Whip. A piece of cheddar cheese was a luxury item. Apple butter and bread was breakfast. We didn’t have coffee but drank cheap tea.

So when the spring of 1972 finally came I was antsy for an adventure.

It was March and the snows were melting. Clay Creek on the other side of the Bluff Road from the Yellow Farmhouse was flooding. The Yellow Farmhouse and Clay Creek were on the eastern side of the Missouri River Valley in southeastern South Dakota. The Missouri River flowed miles away on the western side of the valley. This was all a few miles south of Gavins Point Dam and Yankton, SD.

The day was cold and cloudy but I got my shotgun and put on my gear. Sure it was spring and not hunting season and I didn’t have a license but I didn’t give a damn. We were hungry. Time to get some quail or a pheasant.

Felix the Dalmatian wanted to come along so I said okay and off we went to the west across Clay Creek.

There was a bridge across the creek but it was flooded. The water was 6” deep atop the planking but Felix and I walked across.

At the western end of the bridge was a very unhappy bobcat. He was sitting on the bridge support high and dry and didn’t want any company.

The bobcat hissed at Felix and I and Felix got a bit nervous but I just pointed my shotgun at the bobcat and told him to let us pass or go elsewhere. The bobcat ran off and went elsewhere.

We made it over the bridge and started up the muddy field on the other side of Clay Creek. We hunted the hedgerows along the field’s edges finally coming to the western side of the field.

By now it was about 3 or 4 PM and dusk was coming soon. I decided to head back straight across the field heading east to the Clay Creek and the Yellow Farmhouse.

As Felix and I walked across the field of stubble, the water got higher and higher. Finally, it was up to my chest and I had to carry Felix, who was shivering, in my left arm and carry the shotgun up high with my right.

We made it across the field to the levee covered in trees and brambles along the edge of Clay Creek. Felix and I were soaked and very cold.

I figured that we’d have to head north and find the flooded bridge again to get across but there was a tree that had fallen across the flooded creek to the other side.

The tree was only about 3’ in diameter and soaking wet with a swollen muddy creek under it but it had branches to hang onto for a crossing.

I decided to chance it as hypothermia was perhaps setting in. I slowly made my way across the fallen tree and Felix followed.

Once on the other side, we were home free. There was only a cornfield to cross and it was almost dry. Then cross Bluff Road to the Yellow Farmhouse I could see 400 yards away.

As Felix and I walked along the southern edge of the field the sun came out. We started to warm up.

At the eastern edge of the field along Bluff Road, there were power poles carrying telephone lines and electricity. At the base of one of these poles was a 4’ in diameter circle of high grass that hadn’t been plowed due to its proximity to the pole.

As we passed the pole Felix stopped, looked, and then went into the classical bird dog pointing position. I’d never seen him do that before.

“Felix,” I said, “You’re crazy! No bird is going to hide in that little tuft of grass.”

But nevertheless, I shouldered my shotgun and took off the safety.

I walked up and brushed the grass with my boot.

Up flew a huge rooster pheasant. I blasted him with one shot.

We had pheasant for dinner.

TJM