trees there was an abundance
of squirrels. Cedar had a ner-
vous twitch when he wanted to
get something or do something
he wasn’t supposed to. Those
squirrels gave him that twitch
because there were so many
trees to escape him. One day
I saw one a short distance. I
aimed him, but he bee-lined to
the side. As I turned to see why,
he’d spotted one of the Bengal
Leopard cats my father had just
bought. The cat made it about
2 feet in the air before he was
blasted by the canine cannon-
ball. Awhile later he leaped up
and took a running squirrel off
a 4-foot fence as it was leaping
to a tree.
One day as he laid next to
my father who was sitting on
the back porch, as they often
did, Cedar and my father were
annoyed by the constant bark-
ing of a new Sorrells male we
bought from a man in Lan-
sing from the Lane bred Sor-
rells line. He was about 50lbs
and hadn’t stopped barking. As
Cedar would raise up to quiet
him, my father would tell him
NO and he’d uneasily lay back
down, never taking his eyes
off him. As company came,
my father turned to greet them.
Cedar, then went to greet the
barker. He shot up in the arm-
pit/chest area. Up to his eyes it
seemed with a mouthful. Be-
cause of the angle, the bulldog
was only able to get a hold on
the back portion and neck area
of Cedar. As I broke them apart,
Cedar was scratching me up to
go back. I looked him over and
there were some deep scrapes
but nothing serious.
One time we worked next to
an abandoned house, the yard
overrun by big city rats. My
friend suggested we bring Ce-
dar the next day. We did. I wish
I had it on tape. Cedar honestly
was like an artist. Far above
and beyond the dogs I see to-
day on videos ratting. He filled
up one of the big construction
grade trash bags himself. One
constant motion. Never tarry-
ing on one, he’d grab, crunch
and drop on to the next. As
their numbers dwindled, Cedar
never missed a beat. One ran up
a bush and my friend swatted it
out with a stick. Cedar caught
it midair, crushed and dropped
it and dove through an old bi-
cycle tire spoke after another.
We didn’t get any work done
that day, but it sure felt like we
had.
If dogs or pups of any breed
wouldn’t kennel up after exer-
cising, all it took was “Cedar”,
and a finger point towards the
offenders and Cedar was cir-
cling, nipping, shouldering
towards the kennels. Surpris-
ingly, even the big dogs rarely
offered resistance other than
a snap or growl as they were
marched into their pen.
One time an infamous dog-
man came to call, with a 40lb
grandson of Tab riding shotgun.
He left the window down as it
was hot and we stood inside the
main yard talking. As he and
my father talked, I saw his dog
jump out the window and head
towards Cedar. I said Ron your
dog is going over to Cedar. He
smirked, “Aww he isn’t going
to hurt your little dog”. My fa-
ther smiled as I was going out
to get them. Just as I opened the
gate, the dog was raising up on
Cedar. BAM! Cedar had him
on the side of the face, clamped
hard. As Ron grabbed his dog,
I broke Cedar (who was sus-
pended in air between the dog’s
face, and his own chain) off the
dog. Ron was in disbelief. Ce-
dar was a great producer and
usually would produce at least
one that looked like him in each
litter, regardless off the female
he bred. Same with the bobtail.
In a bit of a long story short,
Cedar ended up in the yard of
Dave Mason, producing some
good workers for him, before
going to live with the late, great
Mr. Henry Johnson, where
Cedar lived out his days as a
much-loved companion to the
age of 17 years and 3 months.
Of all the dogs we owned, if
I could go back and have again,
Cedar would be that dog for the
Fell Terriers. He was a Hunter,
guard dog, ratter, herder, but
most importantly, much loved
family dog.
We bred him to a daughter
of Vetzel’s Skeeter, and Our
Queen of Sheba to produce
Voo Doo. She in turn was bred
to her Uncle Mojo, to produce
one of the baddest of the bad,
J&J/Weapon X Bad Billy, an-
other great little dog.
GOD bless you Cedar,
you were one of a kind
and a pleasure to own.
J&J
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