Dog Stories

Jilda and I headed out for our morning exercise earlier than usual. The oak, hickory, and sweet gum trees have all shed their leaves, so as we passed beneath the ancient trees, our feet sounded as if we were walking on a crunchy carpet that is an unfortunate shade of brown.

The dogs love this time of year. Our neighbor's dog jumped a deer behind the barn, so she and all our dogs were off to the races. The sound of their barking faded as they chased the poor critter into the next county. 

A while later as I tended the chickens, the dogs dragged back into the yard. I heard them panting before they came into view, with tongues hanging from their mouths like leather straps.

I have an old aluminum dishpan in the back yard that I fill with fresh water each day. They drank the pan dry.

It occurred to me that if dogs could talk in a language we could understand, what stories they could tell.

Our dogs are well behaved, for the most part, so we give them a lot of space. 

Walking is a daily routine for us, so they're accustomed to being free-range dogs. When the walking is done, they are low maintenance for the rest of the day because they collapse on the carpet and sleep.

My mother was against dogs in the house, and she could never understand why we allowed it. That's OK with me. 

We've never had children, so our mutts are important to us, and I never felt the need to justify that with anyone.

I hope when our critters move on to the next level they say, "You would not believe how much fun we had with our people."