Kentucky Folktales

by Mary Hamilton

  My four brothers thought about what Daddy had said. And if it was as true as it appeared to be, it meant that pond was the most dangerous place on our entire farm. Since they were the ones who uncovered the danger, they felt it was their responsibility to make that pond safe. They considered a wide variety of options and concluded that going head to head in combat with gigantic turtles was not one of the better ones. After much consideration, they decided the proper course of action would be to clear-cut every bit of vegetation a good distance back all the way around the circumference of that pond so those gigantic turtles wouldn’t have any cover. So that’s what they did.

  Every day my brothers would take their hoes down to the pond. Three of my four brothers would be chopping back everything in sight while the fourth stood watch for gigantic turtles. One day, at noontime, when my brothers went up to the house for dinner, one of those boys left his hoe down there at the pond resting blade up. I don’t know which one because not a one of them has ever owned up to it.

  Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever done any farming or gardening, but one of the first things you learn is that you ought not leave a hoe resting blade up. If you have to leave a hoe out in the open, you lean it up against the side of a building or up against a fence post—somewhere where you will remember where you left it. If there’s nothing to lean it against, you leave it resting blade down. My brothers knew that, but one of them forgot.

  After they’d eaten their dinner, they headed back down to the pond to work. Some Dog was with them. He was always with them. There he was running along, intent on being the first one back down there, and before anybody could see what was going to happen, holler “stop,” or take any other preventive measure, Some Dog had run right through that upturned hoe blade. He sliced himself from the end of his nose right through to the tip of his tail, and there he was in two pieces.

  Jeff was the first one to come up on him, and he started wailing, “Oh! Look what happened to my dog! Look what happened to my dog!”

  David was next, “Jeff, I’m going to be an animal doctor when I grow up, and I’m going to be a good one. I just got my first patient. Alan, give me your shirt.” David slapped Some Dog back together, took Alan’s shirt, wrapped it around Some Dog, picked Some Dog up, and headed for the house. He stopped off at the tobacco barn. Old folks will tell you that tobacco on the outside cures just about anything. David took big, long tobacco leaves, wrapped them around Some Dog, and then slid him inside a burlap bag.

  Next David stopped off at the kerosene barrel. Old folks will tell you the same thing about the curative powers of kerosene. He dunked Some Dog in the kerosene a few times, slid him inside another burlap bag, and then headed on into the house. “Mama, Some Dog has suffered a serious injury. He’s got to take up residence in the basement again.” And Some Dog was back downstairs.

  David would sit by that burlap bundle and say, “Some Dog, I’m going to be a veterinarian when I grow up, and I’m going to be a good one. You’re my first patient. You’ve just got to get well. Come on Some Dog, you’ve got to make it.” He was sure he could hear a faint, “ouw, ouw-ouw.”

  Jeff would go downstairs. He would sit by that burlap bundle and read books about brave dogs who survived tremendous hardships. And when those dogs were at their bravest, he was pretty sure he too could hear a faint, “ouw, ouw-ouw.”

  At last the day dawned when David declared Some Dog was as well as Some Dog was ever going to get, so our whole family assembled for the great unveiling. Now, I need to take a moment here and tell you my brother David really did grow up to be a veterinarian. He was part of a practice in Hardinsburg. That’s in Breckinridge County, just one county over from Meade County where we grew up. He was a real good veterinarian, and folks there still do miss him. For reasons I won’t go into here, he left his veterinary practice and became a people doctor, and now he lives in E’town, where he delivers babies. Now, I’m not telling you all this to brag on my brother, even though going to both veterinary school and medical school is quite an accomplishment. Instead, I’m telling you this because I don’t want you to hold what I’m going to tell you next against him. Some Dog’s injury was serious, and David hadn’t had any medical training at the time. He actually wasn’t even in high school yet.

  Let’s take a moment away from the story here so you can ask yourself: Are you certified in first aid? Do you know how to put on a Band-Aid? Those of you who could only answer yes to that second question have skills approximately equal to David’s at the time of Some Dog’s injury, so I know you’ll understand how this next part of the story happened.

  Some Dog’s injury was serious, and it seems David must have panicked and worked just a bit too fast. Yes, he saved Some Dog’s life and got him back together, but with two legs pointing up and two legs pointing down. Yet, this was not a tragedy.

  Some Dog won the most unusual pet contest at the Meade County Fair three years in a row. That third year he was the only contestant—wouldn’t anybody else pay any entry fees to enter their pets. Some folks went to the Fair Board and complained, “That dog those Hamilton boys are entering is not unusual. That dog is unnatural, and there is a difference!”

  Well, the Fair Board had to agree because they weren’t collecting any entry fees, so they presented Some Dog with a lifetime unusual pet certificate and named Some Dog the leader of the Meade County Fair Pet Parade. Some Dog proved an excellent pet parade leader. You see, previous pet parade leaders would sometimes take a notion to rest, and go sit on the curb a spell. It doesn’t take much imagination to see how that could ruin a parade. But Some Dog? He never needed to rest. If the two legs he was walking on got tired, he’d just flip himself over and keep going on the other two.

  The same untiring quality that made Some Dog a superb Meade County Fair Pet Parade leader also made Some Dog an outstanding hunting dog. He could stay out on the hunt longer than any other dogs. He could stay out longer than any of my brothers really wanted to be out with him. But then they discovered that as much as Some Dog liked to hunt, he still liked stories more. All they had to do was take a book, shake it in his direction, and call, “Some Dog, come on over here. I’ll read you a story,” and Some Dog would come right in off the hunt.

  About this time, the oldest of my four brothers, Steve, headed off to Meade County High School. About this same time, Meade County High School decided to upgrade its social studies curriculum by offering a class called psychology. Now Steve had always been real smart and he figured a class that ended in -ology sounded like something a smart person ought to take, so he signed up. Really early on in that psychology class, Steve learned about a person by the name of Pavlov. It seems this Pavlov fellow had himself a bunch of dogs, and every time he fed his dogs he would ring a bell. It got so Pavlov could ring that bell and his dogs would start to slobber even if there wasn’t any food there. Now Steve thought it was pitiful, pitiful, that anybody could get to be world-wide famous, the way this Pavlov fellow did, for teaching dogs how to slobber. I don’t know how dogs are where you live, but in Meade County slobbering is an inborn doggie gift—no training required. Nevertheless, Steve grasped the training principles and decided to use them to teach Some Dog.

  Because Some Dog was so untiring, Steve set his first goal as teaching Some Dog how to hunt independently. Some of you may be thinking, so what, dogs hunt independently all the time. You would be correct, except the human hunter is only allowed to shoot the animal that is in season for hunting at the time. So Steve would hold up a picture of an animal, “Some Dog, you see this picture?”

  Some Dog would look at the picture, “Woof.”

  “This is the animal that’s in season. You go get it, and run it back by the back porch. We’ll wait for you to run it by.”

  Some Dog would say, “Woof,” and then he’d run off, and he wouldn’t come back until he could run by the back porch the animal that was in season at the time.

  Some Dog did so well with the pictures that Steve took to glu
ing the pictures on a calendar. He would hold up a calendar and say, “Some Dog, you see this square. That stands for today.”

  Some Dog would say, “Woof.”

  “And you see back here, this square with the picture on it. That’s the animal that is in season. It’s going to be in season until you see it on this other square with a big X over the top of it.”

  “Woof.”

  “So, this is today. This animal is in season. Now, you go get it. We’ll wait for you to run it by.”

  Some Dog would take off, and my brothers would wait for him to run the right animal by. Some Dog did so well with the pictures on the calendar, my brothers put one of those huge wall chart calendars down on the wall inside Some Dog’s dog house. When Some Dog would come up to the house of a morning, one of my brothers would say, “Hey Some Dog, you want to hunt? Go ahead; I’ll wait for you to run something by.”

  Some Dog would say, “Woof.” He’d run down to his dog house, check his calendar, see what was legal, “Woof.” He would take off and not come back until he could run the right animal by.

  Everything went real well until along about November 1st or November 2nd. Some Dog came up to the house one morning. One of my brothers said, “You want to hunt? Go ahead. I’ll wait for you to run something by.”

  Some Dog went down to his dog house, checked his calendar, and he took off. Several hours later we received a phone call from a farmer who lived a good distance away. “You all need to come get your dog. Now, I know it’s yours. It’s got two legs up and two legs down and nobody else around here has a dog like that. I don’t know what’s wrong with it, but I believe your dog has lost its mind. It’s out here barking at the remains of my pumpkin patch and carrying on something awful.”

  We all went to get the dog, and for a while everybody sat on the back porch staring at everybody else, until somebody said, “Why don’t we go check his calendar?” Remember I told you this happened along about November 1st, November 2nd? Sure enough, back on October 31 for Halloween Day there had been a picture of some pumpkins. Some Dog was just hunting what he knew to be legal.

  My brothers said, “Oh, it’s a good thing we figured this out before Thanksgiving. Turkey farmers would have been upset with us.”

  “And look yonder, on Christmas Day, there’s a picture of an evergreen tree. I’d hate to think how Some Dog would have tried to herd home a tree.” My brothers took little pieces of paper, covered up all those holiday symbols, and Some Dog didn’t have any more trouble.

  Some Dog was smart. He could hunt independently, in season, so Steve decided to raise his training one more notch by teaching Some Dog how to hunt by specified size. My brothers did this by leaning up against the back porch wall the pelt board that corresponded to the size of the animal Some Dog was to bring back. Smaller pelt boards for smaller animals. Larger pelt boards for larger animals.

  Some Dog would come up to the house of a morning. If he saw a pelt board leaning up against the back porch wall, he’d know it was a hunting day. He’d note the size, “Woof.” Then he’d go down to his dog house, check his calendar, “Woof.” Then off he’d go, and he wouldn’t come back until he could run by the back porch the animal legally allowed to be hunted and of the size specified by the size of the pelt board leaning up against the back porch wall.

  It was a superb system, and it would have been foolproof too. Except, one hot July day my mama decided it was entirely too hot to do her ironing inside the house. Now Some Dog was brilliant. I know if my mama had set her iron on the back porch first, or strung her extension cord out the kitchen window first, Some Dog would never have been confused. But the first thing my mama carried out to the back porch was her ironing board. And she didn’t set it up for ironing. No, she just leaned it up against the back porch wall in the very spot where my brothers usually set their pelt boards.

  Some Dog came up to the house that morning. He saw the ironing board and thought it was a pelt board, “Woof!” He ran down to his dog house to see what was legal. Folks, in Meade County, Kentucky, in the middle of July the only animal legally allowed to be hunted are groundhogs. Some Dog said, “Woof?!?” and he took off.

  Now, none of us were on the back porch to see which way he went. We managed to piece together what had happened when he turned up missing and we realized where the ironing board had been. So, far as I know, he could be all the way to where you are by now. If you should happen to see him, now he is going to be easy to spot, he’s got two legs up and two legs down, not many dogs are like that. If you should happen to see him, please call him off the hunt. Remember, all you have to do is get a book, shake it in his direction, and say, “Hey, Some Dog, come on over here. I’ll read you a story.” And if you don’t mind, we’d really appreciate it if you’d make the book you choose be something like Lassie Come-Home, so Some Dog will be reminded of us. We sure do miss him.

  COMMENTARY

  ATU Tale Type 1960 The Great Animal or Great Object

  ATU Tale Type 1889L The Split Dog

  Some Dog is a story I developed in 1991, in preparation for potential bookings during Kentucky’s bicentennial celebrations in 1992. I knew that if I wanted to present programs that reflected the variety of Kentucky’s narrative traditions, I needed a tall tale in my repertoire. Tales of amazing dogs and incredible hunting exploits are the common Kentucky-collected tall tales, not the tall tales of human heroes like Pecos Bill and Paul Bunyan I had learned about in elementary school. Fortunately, I found the tall tales of amazing dogs especially appealing. But I struggled with the tall tale telling tradition of first-person storytelling. Although I did indeed grow up on a farm, I’ve never hunted in my life. Also, Kentucky-collected tall tales were usually told by men. One day it dawned on me that I have four brothers. The hero dog in the story could belong to them, which would allow me to tell the story in first person while talking about what happened to my brothers and their dog. That decision got me over my only major hurdle in developing this tale.

  After spending time reading and thinking about many Kentucky-collected tall tales, there were two that really captured me. One was a gigantic turtle segment of a much larger tale, attributed to Ted Middleton.2 The other tale was a brief mention of a dog so smart it could hunt by specified size given the size of the pelt board set out for it. One day when an ironing board was put in the pelt board’s place, the dog ran off and was never heard from again. This was attributed to high school students in Whitesburg, Letcher County, Kentucky.3 The longer story of the big turtle first recounts the tale of a catfish so huge you could not see all of it at once, but you could know which pool of water in the creek the fish was in because the water level changed depending on where the fish was. Attempts to catch this fish, first with a high-powered rifle, then with a three-foot fishhook made from a wagon rod attached to fishing line made of bailing wire, eventually succeeded. In the story an amazing ox used to try to drag the catfish (which turns out to be the turtle) from the creek almost drowns and has to be rescued by the narrator. A second ox is brought in and before the turtle can drown both of them, the oxen manage to haul the turtle out and wedge it between two trees. Folks use logging chains to hold the turtle and a crosscut saw to behead it.

  The meat from the turtle is described as follows:

  “You know turtles have all kinds of meat in them, chicken, duck, fish, cow, hog, and every kind of meat there is, and make awful good eating. We had every kind of meat for weeks after that, eat chicken meat ’till we got tired of it, then have beef, then fish, then quail, just whatever we took a notion to have. We give lots of it to neighbors, everybody had every kind of meat ’round there the rest of the year.”4

  The shell of the turtle becomes a boat:

  “Well, you know, that turtle shell laid ’round there on the bank of the River for a long time, possums and other wild animals eat it out clean. I was down there one day and saw it would make a good boat. I got four or five of the boys who lived ’round up there to help me, and we turned
it over and put it in the River. It was the best and biggest boat ever on Poor Fork. Twenty people or more could ride in it. It was really too big for Poor Fork, big as it was even in them days.”5

  Later, when using the boat, the following happens:

  “. . . and all of a sudden like something started pushing it up outten the water, and then it started pulling it down under the water. Me and Bill jumped outten it and swum to the bank to save our lives. When I got to the shore I looked back and saw something grab it in its teeth and pull it under the water, and it was gone. Never saw it again.”6

  When one of the loafers listening to Middleton tell the story asks if he has any idea what took the shell underwater, Middleton offers this explanation. “. . . turtles hatch out early in the Spring. They don’t get their growth for a long time, and the mother turtle looks after them just like anything else ’till the young ’uns get big ’nough to look atter themselves. That was a real young turtle we caught, he wasn’t weaned, and his mother had been looking for him, and when she saw that shell turned upside down she thought the baby turtle had got over on its back and couldn’t turn back over. She straightened it out, and took it back to the nest where the other young ’uns was. Taint no way ever knowing how big its mother was, I just saw its head when it took the shell in its mouth.”7

  Those were the segments from the turtle tall tale that fit my sense of humor and captured my imagination. I laughed over the idea of different kinds of meat. Then I told an early version of “Some Dog” to other storytellers at Tale Talk, a monthly storytelling group I participated in when I lived in Louisville.8 One of the listeners commented that he had always heard that different parts of a turtle taste like different other kinds of meat. I thought: “Shoot, I thought every bit of that was exaggeration, not just the quantity of meat.” So, I rejected using the different types of meat and replaced that with the turtle recipes. To come up with the various turtle dishes, I sat down with my cookbooks and poured over the indexes, until I had an A–Z list. Go back and look in the story—you’ll see that’s exactly what it is, with elaboration developed through repeated telling. By the way, this happened before the Forest Gump film came out in which one character frequently lists various shrimp dishes! I have been asked if I got the idea for the turtle recipes from the movie. No, I didn’t. Did someone from the movie get the idea from me? I seriously doubt it!