Blondie, whose picture comes with this commentary, is like a wolf critter from Call of The Wild – Jack London’s noble savage. When she was young and I told her to get in the house she would stare at me with a bemused expression of defiance. Needless to say, she was an Alpha female, of whom friends and experts said would be a better dog if properly trained. Maybe so, but I liked her style. And I worked around it.
Riding in the car, she objected to trucks like a mad Dingo – so no more car rides. She was a constant runaway, always winding up at the school bus depot near the high school. Within an hour of her taking off, I would drive over there and open the car door, toot the horn twice, and she would hop in, sated. That is, until the local dogcatcher started stalking us.
For a bit, while still a puppy, she feared the shock collar but when she chose to risk the pain in order to have the freedom she wanted, I could never bring myself to increase the shock dose. Part of the reason she was so lawless was that we shared the same disdain for dogcatchers and overzealous meter maids.
But that was then. Now when I tell her to go in the house she does so with nary a nay and promptly settles down in her armchair. Her companion, a short-legged Jack Russell about one third her size, usually wants to give chase about that time, so a marathon ensues. The Jack Russell, whom I did not name Princess, bobs and darts about the furniture like a clown car dog on a mission to amuse.
In old age, my dad lived for his animals, (I only hope I can live that long). I need to stop working and give up the house so my friends won’t be burdened with small tasks related to my upkeep. I don’t really like to drive anymore so I am more than ready to shift gears. There are bunch of old timers waiting for me at Upper Shore – including two friends.
All I really have to do is give up Blondie.
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