Some Damn Fine Dogs

We have another Dog, her name is Dutchy, short for Dutchess. Part Border Collie and Black and Tan Hound. My daughter named her, she's almost five years old now (the dog, not my daughter) she (my daughter, not the dog) helped deliver her (the dog... you get the idea) when she was ten. She got home after school one day, alone and her dog was in labor (Gypsy, a full blood Border collie, later on was hit by some butt-hole driving too fast in a residential zone, she is now buried in our back yard, by my daughter (good kid that girl) along with three more dogs, three or four cats, two birds, an Iguana, and one red eared pond slider... don't ask) she helped with all nine of the puppies (good girl that kid) and then she called me. Nine puppies with eight being Black and Tan like their father and one almost all white like their mother. Guess which one we got to keep, yep the long haired white female who sheds all the time and seems to forever be in season. Drives our other dog nuts. Anyway, I never liked house dogs, can't stand the smell or the mess. Somehow when you have a ten year old daughter with a new puppy, you now have a house dog, five years later and it's still in the house and with her own dog to boot. Yeah, our other dog Tigg (see photo on post "Trial and Error") is really Dutchy's dog, a neighborhood stray that attached itself to our dog and would not leave (even tried several times to bite me, and the mail man, and our neighbor, the pizza guy, all three of my brothers, my sister until she fed him, my sister-in-law, a guy from OG&E, a lady I used to work with, and numerous cats, and dogs) He loves me now (good boy that dog) Back to the point now. About four years ago I went through some bad times, health wise, I was about as down as I could get and about to make my peace with the almighty or so I thought, laying on the couch alone in the dark covered up and shaking, needing to be in the hospital but I just didn't care anymore, I was tired. Hell I even cried. Dutchy came over and laid her head on my chest and just looked at me and waited it out with me. She didn't eat her food, or drink, or even play with her favorite toy, she would barely go out to pee, and when she did, she would come right back in and lay her head back down on me. Well to shorten this thing up a bit, four years and a butt-load of chewed up crap later, and I still have inside dogs, my entire house smells like I've been raising monkeys, everything is covered in long white dog hair, with a little black hair from Tigg mixed in, and every time I eat something I have to share it. I finally gave up and gave myself and my home to one dog then another, and I made pledge, as long as I have a breath in my lungs my dogs will have a home and food, and after my kid, they come first in my life. A while back my good friend SRG called me and said his dog of eight years, Angus had passed away while he was at work. A huge 200 pound beautiful black and tan American Rottwieler. That dog went everywhere with him, and us. Out to the country to hang out and have an occasional beer, cook out, shooting, bonfires, deer hunting, and camping. Angus would stir around in his sleep and SRG would say "he's dreaming about chasing rabbits". Well I hope there are plenty of rabbits and rib bones where he's at now. Angus is laid to rest in a sacred place, My friend buried him by himself, I wish I could have been with him, he would've been there for me. I guess it was something he needed to do on his own. One Damn Fine Dog. This, for whatever it's worth, is for Angus, Good Hunting.