On our Lamesa farm rattlesnakes were everywhere, not every day, but at one time or another. They were in pastures, in cow trails, beside cow trails, in the garden in shades of potato vines, in chicken houses, in feed barns, in the corn patch and in the watermelon patch. Wherever they were, there was a 50-50 chance Old Scotch had been there ahead of us. And when there was a snake, he often found it first. When there was something he wanted us to know about, he barked. And the tone of his bark told us whether the something was dangerous or only a horned toad to be played with for a moment and then ignored. A cow in the yard brought a bark in a tone which seemed to say, "Come and help me, or at least come and close the gate after I drive her out." Chickens in the yard brought no bark at all. He could handle chickens alone. A skunk or a badger brought a bark from Old Scotch which told us he would like to have some of us around if only to keep him company and help him make decisions, and maybe take note of the swell job he was doing. After driving it away, he would always accept a congratulatory pat on his head, if we had one to offer. And he was most certain we would have. Old Scotch knew things instinctively. Of course, we all know that dogs know a lot of dog things by instinct. But Old Scotch knew human things which he had never been taught. One day Papa was building fence on our Lamesa farm. We boys were in school, so Old Scotch was with Papa, also building fence and looking after Papa. As the morning warmed up, Papa pulled off his blue denim jumper and laid it down. He probably laid it on the ground, there not being many bushes in Dawson County large enough to hang a jumper up on. Anyway, when he finished doing what he was doing at that place, he started walking along the fence to his next place of work. Then he noticed an enthusiastic whine from the dog, which was really a half-whine-half-yelp expression, but anyhow, it got Papa's attention. He looked back. The dog was sitting there pleading with Papa. He first looked at the jumper and whined, then at Papa and yelped, and wagged his tail in a manner that could mean only one thing, "You are forgetting your jumper and I don't want to stay here and watch after it. I want to go with you." Papa went back and let him know he got the message, but that he hadn't meant to take the jumper. Then he spoke to the dog in words which he could understand real well because he had heard them often through the years, "It's all right. Leave it alone. You can go." And with a happy little yelp which meant, "Thank you," and with an enthusiastic wag of his tail, he quickly bounced up beside his master seeking a pat of approval before going on his way out front to clear Papa's path of any and all vermin, and to warn him of any danger that might lurk in his path.