**Long, Rambling Post Alert**
I forgot to finish what I was saying about my best dogs in the whole, wide world. I’ve been so tired lately that my mind wanders all over the place and I forget what I was talking about quite often.
So the other night I talked about Noah without actually mentioning his name, calling to him or speaking in that “I want you to come here, dog” tone, and he came! He’s a genius!
Noah has been such a blessing. I did not want to get another dog when Mr. N started talking about getting a second dog. I was fine with Rocky, my beautiful Malamute, G. Shep mix. Mr. N persisted, saying that Rocky would not live forever and he wanted a dog that was already used to being around us when Rocky, may he rest in peace, died.
Rocky was a blessing at the time, too, speaking of blessings. God knew what we needed. We had dealt with poor Buck the Beagle for several years. Poor Buck. *deep, regret filled sigh* He was a mismatch from the time he came here. He was Mr. N’s childhood dog. He was a very energetic, very dumb dog who was a good hunter. Buck … the poor thing. He had some kind of physical problem that caused his back half to stop working properly. The vet thought he had been abused–he accused Mr N’s father of beating the dog–but could find nothing wrong with him. He was sure Buck had broken bones. The irony there is that this veterinarian was investigated for animal cruelty. I’m not sure how that ever came out but he was under the microscope for some time with whatever agency issues veterinarian licenses.
Climbing back down the tree to the Rocky and Noah branches of this post …
Rocky was a beautiful dog. He was my buddy. At a time when I had NO desire for another dog, he was just the thing to satisfy Mr. N’s need for a dog and my need for a pet that didn’t jump all over everyone who walked through the door or demand attention every waking moment.
We got Rocky from a lady who had placed an ad in the paper. She had two dogs, Rocky and a female, but the lady’s arthritis was getting pretty bad and she needed to find another home for the dogs, who were too big and strong for her to handle anymore. Mr. N told me after Rocky died, may he rest in peace, that the lady was not planning to renew the ad in the paper but to put the dogs to sleep if no one called about them. I did not know that or I would’ve had Mr. N go back and get the other dog, too! He probably thought I was a cruel witch all this time when the reality is that I did not know. Oh well. What can you do.
Rocky was a calm dog in general. Sure, he got excited, but we could control him. He didn’t bark at anything and nothing. He barked when people he didn’t know were nearby, and he barked a different type of bark when it was someone he liked. He quickly became confident in his role as chief of security. He didn’t need to pace back and forth to keep an eye on things. He could hear trouble from a deep sleep, I am convinced. He spent a lot of time resting in his own spot but would move like a black and tan streak if his services were needed.
The only problem we ever had with Rocky had to do with wanderlust. That dog would see an opportunity to scope out the neighborhood and would take it. He would trot off with a big smile on his face and, when we’d try to catch him by chasing him, he’d stop just out of reach and smile, ears at attention.
Believe me when I say that Rocky caused us to pray a lot more! It was generally something like, “Please, God, send Rocky home safely. Please don’t let him get hit by a car! In Jesus’ name, Amen.” I’ll never forget the first time one of us thought to ask God to send Rocky home. We went outside to look for him and there he was, trotting into the front yard! God cares about stuff like that!
It was our neighbor who discovered that there was a trick to catching Rocky before he got too far away. One time, he who had been bitten by a mother dog protecting her puppies, got onto his hands and knees and said, “Come’ere Rocky! Come on, boy! Nice doggy!” He said that Rocky wheeled around and ran at him, smiling all the way. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen but he was bracing himself for a face removal or something equally gruesome and horrible. Thankfully, and not surprising to me, Rocky stopped short of biting the neighbor’s face off and decided to sniff his face and await a sound fluffing. Neighbor Guy grabbed his collar and walked him home, very relieved that his willing sacrifice was not necessary.
Rocky was a sweet dog and seemed to feel a certain responsibility for his people. Mr. N said that he had observed Rocky checking on the kids at night. He went into their room, sniffed the ones he could reach and then went to his spot. Thinking back, Rocky didn’t relax at night until everybody had gone to bed. He was very antsy until he knew it was safe for him to go to sleep, apparently.
Because of Rocky’s tendency to explore, we prayed specifically that God would protect Rocky from himself and allow him to die quickly at home when the time came. It didn’t come as a surprise when Rocky died suddenly in his sleep in his favorite spot one hot spring afternoon. When I say it didn’t come as a surprise, I mean that the fact that he died at home was not a surprise. It came as a complete shock to me that he actually died. I’m never prepared for the death of a loved one, whether they are a person or a critter.
Less than a year after Mr. N and Dub brought Rocky home, Mr. N saw an ad in the paper for another dog. This time it wasn’t free, but it was very worth it. They went to a breeder’s house out in the country and Noah greeted them in the driveway.
Noah had just turned a year old when we got him so he was young and energetic. The poor thing, though, was very shy and cowered whenever we’d reach out to pet him. We discovered that he was covered in ticks so we spent several hours those first couple of days just running our fingers through his fur, trying to make sure we hadn’t missed any of the awful things. Once we finished torturing him and he realized that we really were okay, he started to act more like the puppy that he was. Rocky, being the old man, did not appreciate his youthful spunk, though he tolerated Noah pretty well unless Noah was around the kids. The only huge blow out they had was when one of them misinterpreted the other’s intentions around The Little Guy. And then we had to scream for Mr. N, who had worked all night and was sleeping, to come out and break them up before the house came down around them, big dogs that they were. They were both immediately apologetic (dog people know the look) and we never had that problem again.
Rocky mainly only tolerated Noah when they were in close proximity. He mostly avoided him. Noah, otoh, liked provoking Rock. He was still practically a puppy, after all.
Rocky, confident in his cool alpha maleness, smiling behind Noah, Mr. Me First, who is looking with great curiosity at the thing with the blinding flash.
The date on the next photo has to be wrong. We never cabled Noah in the back yard after about the first several months. He never needed it. He is 8 years old and still does not deviate from his own territory when he’s off the leash. He had to have been about a year or year and a half old. Judging by Dub’s teeth, he couldn’t have been 6 yet. Okay. I think I figured it out. The Little Guy is about 3 so Noah has to be 2. I’m obviously wrong about the cable.
Noah is Homer’s dog for all practical purposes. Homer is the dog man at our house. I love our dogs but Homer is the best at handling them. He has done all of their training.
Dogs have got to be about the best 4 legged invention God ever made. I’m curious to ask Him someday if He meant for them to be pets In The Beginning. My dogs have got to be the best 4 legged invention, besides the table 
, that I have. We really get a huge kick out of these guys.
Er. Guy and girl.
