Dogs are one of my favorite subjects. My association with them has been a life-long love affair starting with the first one, a big fawn-colored boxer named Laird. He did not live long. It saddens me to write of it all these years later. He developed bone cancer shortly after he was 2 years old! My father was a physician and was absolutely devoted to this animal. He took him to every human oncologist in the city in a vain attempt to save him. After Laird came Cindy, a big, beautiful standard poodle. That kicked off the love affair with poodles, which has lasted a lifetime.
The photograph of the white poodle is “Lucky”…the latest permanent residence in my home. That’s a long story. And we all have long stories regarding our best-friend-pooches. Right? Lucky is now 18 months old and full of spunk and vinegar. He is the best friend and rough-house-buddy of Flicka, the German Shepherd mix rescue-dog that you see here from time to time. Both of them are smarter, and definitely more sensitive, than many human beings I know and have known. And that’s a fact.
That “dog” way out there, isolated in the vastness of this place is definitely NOT a dog, but rather a close relative. We have many coyotes here and they walk around and visit the yard from time to time. You can’t imagine how much I want to feed them, but I know that’s a bad idea. And I don’t. How they survive out there is a mystery to me.