Dr. John Pickle Jr.

rest in wealth

Dad was an animal whisperer. Not only did he love his field trial and hunting dogs (Ginger, Huey, and Bandit were the ones I knew well) but he had a way of taming cats and all kinds of wildlife!

When we were little, we would take long road trips to see family for the holidays. When we were tired of the alphabet or license plate games, we would pass the time singing…often times, Christmas carols. I remember dad would lead us with one of his favorites, The Little Drummer Boy. Dad did enjoy good vocal music. And I’ll never forget when he shared The King’s Singers with me. His favorite song was You Are the New Day. So I’ll share it here: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=J3LduXNeicY&ra=m

I think it was around 2014 or 2015 when my dad invited me out to his country garden. It was on a beautiful piece of Wisconsin countryside where he had built the kind of garden most people would be jealous of—tomatoes, squash, beets, cucumbers, and all kinds of vegetables. It was October, near the end of the growing season, and Dad needed some help taking the garden down and harvesting what was left. He told me I could take as much as I wanted, so I brought my dog, Brutus, and went out to spend the day with him. While Dad and I worked, Brutus had the time of his life running around the countryside. I had brought a ball, and we played fetch while we worked. Dad enjoyed having him there, too. He had lost his own dog not too long before and had decided not to get another one, so I think having Brutus around that day meant something to him. After we finished most of the work in the garden, Dad started showing me the land where he hunted. He took me to the place where he set up his turkey blind and explained how he could sit there for hours waiting and watching. He showed me the trails the turkeys followed and the signs they left behind. Then we walked farther toward the woods, where he hunted deer. Dad showed me their tracks and the trails they used, and he talked about the herd he had been watching over the years. What struck me was how carefully he thought about it. He wasn't simply interested in hunting a deer. He paid attention to the health of the herd and tried to determine which deer he could take without hurting the population. Walking those trails with him, I realized just how much my father loved that land and the natural world around him. He knew it. He watched it. He understood the animals that moved through it, and he cared about what happened there. It wasn't a particularly extraordinary day. We harvested tomatoes, walked through the woods, talked about hunting, and watched Brutus run himself ragged. But the weather was perfect—that beautiful October weather Wisconsin sometimes gives you—and Dad seemed completely at home. Looking back now, it has become one of my fondest memories of him. It was simply a beautiful day in the country with my father and my dog, and I am very glad I got to have it.

I probably don’t have it memorized perfectly, but this is a poem a neighbor wrote for dad on his 40th birthday — we lived in Lincoln, Nebraska— I was in 3rd or 4th grade. An Ode to John Pickle on his 40th Birthday Since John H. Pickle’s gettin’ old, Some things ‘bout him should be told. Many a varmint to rest he’s laid, Back home he’s known as Mr. Raid. Yes, Neighbor John’s a huntin’ man, Kills those bugs as fast as he can. And birds and bees and butterflies too, The only thing alive is me and you. So watch yourself. Don’t drink John’s beer! That 2, 4-D can make it taste kinda’ queer. And if your liver ever starts to tickle, You know you’ve been had By big John Pickle. (I can’t remember who wrote it… but they also gave him a wooden wheelchair and some Geritol. I remember the celebration being very funny.)