More on that Good Old Hound

I don't have photos from before Alex on my computer, but from the beginning of that time I have many. So I picked out a few favorites to highlight our family transition. This is Lucky just after Alex was born in 2003, we had had her for seven years and she was 8 or 9 years old. Always a good girl, and always game, she went with the flow. She is pictured with the monster squash we harvested that September. We were all afraid it might eat someone, but it made wonderful soup.


Here Lucky is contemplating this new addition. It didn't throw sticks, but had interesting smells.



She decided, "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em."

"Besides, my parents sure are having fun with him. "


"I might as well have fun too..."




And then Lucky inspired Beeswax to get in on the fun...

That may have been part of an evil plot.



But no, Lucky loved her Beeswax, and didn't want him to miss anything.

I can't really believe that she was already at least seven by the time Alex came along. I always saw her as such a puppy. Wagging, happy, wanting to go for a run in the woods. Chasing chipmunks in the garage (she even caught one once), barking at strangers, hiding from deer. She was stood down by a baby dove one day. She was really a softie, but she was very proud that she was mistaken for a Rottweiller once. Well, okay she had some help with that one. She was on my bed back in '97, she never left it when I was not home at the rental, and my roommate Jay had a friend over. He was walking by my dark room and heard the dog growling as she defended my futon. It was dark in my room and light in the hall, and Jay was winding him up. The poor guy thought he was going to get eaten. Of course she never left the bed, and he never saw how short her legs were. Ah, the golden moments of her life. She also caught a pigeon once, but I think it ran into something before she grabbed it. She had such a soft mouth that she did not crush it, but I did have to pry her jaws open to get her to drop it. She was great in a canoe, after her first trip. Once she realized that escape was not an option, and dang those Boundary Waters lakes are cold. After one dive and swim near a portage she let us lift her into the boat without protest forevermore. In fact she evetually self loaded, enjoyed her trips, and had one memorable night at a camp site with a whole troop of mice. It was an island and she ran after those little critters to her hearts content. Never caught one. Other highlights included a stint as a sled dog, and a few skijouring tours. She chased a kayak into Superior bay once, but never did like the surf. In fact she never liked to swim and would not go deeper than her chest if she could avoid it. And that was only about four inches deep. But snow, she loved it. She'd go into a four foot drift, no problem. Only occasionally had to get rescued. Mud, also no problem to her. And as for things worse than mud, well she liked those too. When she was younger, faster, and went further afield she rolled in some absolutely nasty things. And boy was she proud when she did that. Could not understand what all the fuss was about from the humans either. Oh, Lucky Dog. She had her own sleeping bag, and several of her own quilts. Even had her own tent for awhile. We wont talk about the toys, she had every one that she'd ever been given that had not been lost or stolen by another dog. We even gave her a fence (a joint gift to Alex too), but she really didn't appreciate that one. Prefered to range the hood on her own terms. Fortunately as she got older she became a bit of a Houdini and got in many unauthorized wanders this past summer. Several heart attacks were had when we realized she had disappeared AGAIN from the yard but all those stories turned out good. On a family outing she met her first bear on the trails last spring, although I don't think she actually saw it, and that is probably a good thing.

I could go on and on, but you get the idea. Twelve years is a very long time and there are so many good memories racked up. The yard is empty now. The house is quiet. I am tired from crying so much. The cat is louder than usual today, looking for his companion. We are coming to terms with her death, and celebrating her life. It was a great one, and we are so blessed that it was my truck that she ran in front of so many years ago.