I loved that rescue, cooked for that dog, slept with that dog, hiked, swam, and camped with that dog.
Chase balls? Yes! Chase sticks? Yes! But her favorite? Our jump and catch tug of wars with a long leather woven rope.
A year or so passed when she became suddenly ill. I was crazed as to what to do. Just as I picked her up from the couch the first little blob dropped, then came eight more.
Screw the couch, I was so thrilled with the only little ones I would ever know.
Some weeks later, looking out my window, there she was growling with my butt end of our leather rope clenched in her teeth. The other end, now frayed into a dozen leathery straps, being pulled and yanked by nine puppies in a mommy tug of war.
How can anyone not love a dog?
It isn’t just the fun, the endless entertainment, but the loyalty and love that knows no end, even if you have been an ass.
Near the end of my dog’s life, I decided to move. It was a big move from a cramped apartment to a home I had bought miles away with a large patio for my love to enjoy.
In the last haul of odds and ends I put her in my car and then introduced her to her yard of green grass and pecan trees.
An hour later she was gone, not dead, just gone.
She had managed to dig out under the wooden wall when she saw me leave to go to the store.
The night was spent combing the neighborhood and major streets for miles around. Nothing.
She was just gone.
In the morning, I checked with the Pound, Animal Control and put up posters on street corners in every direction for a mile or more around.
Hope had faded away but for a whim. I drove the miles, crossing a half dozen of the biggest most trafficked streets in Phoenix.
And there she was, asleep on the mat in front of our apartment door.
How can anyone not love a dog?
Richard Kimball
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