without dogs!

*BLEEP* not just one day slipped by me ... two!!! Two whole days gone.  And now I owe myself three blogs!

Ok, so for my first owed entry ... I'm going to blog about my furry children.  I know, I know some people consider pets, just pets or animals.  But ever since I was a little girl my family has had dogs.   Hound dogs, hunting dogs, wiener dogs, police dogs, and finally family dogs.  And every single one of them was unique. 

I remember Molly, Sokie, and Spike.  Molly was a Basset Hound, Sokie was a hunting dog, and Spike was our first and only wiener dog!  Since we lived in a mobile home, the dogs were kept in a large dog coop.  Each had there own run outside.  But inside, my dad had built large rooms for each.  Big enough I could walk in to get their dishes at feeding time.  I sure miss them.

Then there was Rusty, our first German Shepard.  He, well, didn't last long in our home.  He never seemed to like people in uniforms.  My stepfather worked for the water department and wore a uniform.  Enough said.

After Rusty, we had Lady Lord Sheba.  She too was a German Shepard.  She we had much longer than Rusty, but it was me she despised not uniformed strangers or stepfathers.  Sheba didn't like being told she couldn't eat out of the garbage.  Nor shake the throw rug if someone knocked on the front door.  I went to college before she left this world.

During college, I met my husband.  His family had dogs too.  Sandy a Golden Retriever and Shasta a Sheep-herding Mix.  Those two were inseparable.  Sandy was a gentle, loving and ready to chase ball pup.  Shasta too, loved to chase balls, but he barked for attention.  Shasta doted on Sandy, most of the time cleaning her ears and snuggling up to her.  But he would always scarf down Sandy's food if she ever left any.  Perhaps, it was fair trade... I clean your ears, you give me your supper.

When I turned 26 my husband surprised me.  He drove me an hour south of our home to a Golden Retriever breeder's kennel.  And there, I fell in love with truly my first furry child.  I didn't pick her, she picked me.  At six weeks, Hope, came to me and sat down between my feet.  Her siblings could care less.  They ran about the play yard chasing one another.  But not Hope.  She came to me.

Fourteen years she was a part of my life.  Fourteen.  That's a long time.  I miss her dearly still, as do my children and my husband.

Now, tonight I sit in my kitchen writing this blog... I've been interrupted a dozen times by my present furry children--Red and her sister, Maeve.  Red bops my elbows as I type, while Maeve brings me ball after ball.  Red didn't pick me.  Nor anyone else in my household.  She was picked by us because she wasn't timid and she's a deep red color.  Maeve on the other hand was timid and climbed into my youngest son's lap.  So we couldn't leave with just Red from the breeder, we had to take Maeve too.

Hard to believe they are three years old.  They both think they are lap dogs--although they weigh over 80 lbs each.  Red steals any thing she can reach on a counter and runs with it.  She *loves* socks and stuff animals too.  Maeve as I said before is a "ball girl."  She would run after balls all day if we would throw them.

Well, it's time to walk the furry children...