Yesterday, the day before my birthday, my dog of 14 years passed, he was about 16 years old. I have no idea exactly what his genetic recipe was, but whatever it was, it made for a docile, fast running, trim canine friend. The previous year, my previous dog had died when chasing a basketball into the road on a camping trip. I didn't think any other dog would replace him. So, when my daughters would beg me for another dog, I would tell them that they cost too much money. But, my oldest daughter set about secretly walking dogs for our neighbors, and she raised three hundred bucks. Not bad for a five year old. So, when she asked me again, and I told her... she whipped out this huge roll of bills. I got on the phone to confirm that yes, she had in fact been walking the neighbor's dogs, and had NOT robbed them, as was my first impulse thought. I am still amazed at her ingenuity. I wish she had stayed this motivated into her teens, but...
We called all of the vets and found one that had a dog that fit our needs and vica versa. When we all bent down to look him eye to eye, he belched, and I belched back. Thus, we started a "thing." He continued to belch every time one of us would take a knee to kiss him on his forehead. We assumed that this was just his special way to greet us.
BTW, that picture was back when Lora decided to paint the shop purple, ick. He would set in the cat's swing awaiting customers in which to greet with loving belches.
And, yes he suffered the indignities of being the toy of two little girls.
But, as I was the one who ended up walking him every day, and he assisted me on the farm, he slowly became a good farm dog, leaving the goats, chickens, and rabbits alone (unless he thought they were being bad), and even going with me to hunt deer, but without running them, which would not be cool out here. He stayed right by my side. Sometimes even looking at me with a little disappointment, seeing what my rifle had done.
And, like any gentleman farmer farmdog, he would retire with a book, while I smoked my pipe in front of the fire.
But, the big C set in and he breathed out his last breath after I came home yesterday evening.
He is survived by a manx cat, a puggle, and whole host of small farm animals that will miss his leadership, guidance, and wisdom.
Here we are setting on the ledge above town looking down on the shop.
RIP Scamps, the world is just a tad less warm.
