Old Dogs

Bocephus, my good friend.

I love dogs.  No doubt about that.  The thing I don't like about dogs is my memory.  It's not necessarily that I remember things about my dogs, it's that when I do remember things, it's like it happened yesterday.  I remember Bo (above) climbing in to my lap while we were waiting for our run in the National Championships in 2001.  I can smell the humidity, see the pines, feel his fur.  And now, old Bo is 14 and a half.  He still has "game", but his rear end doesn't, he's half blind and his hearing is not what it was. He's not in pain and he still gets around pretty good, he has a heated dog house, designer dog food and medicated baths.  And, he's an old dog.  When I go to the pen to see the boys, he holds back some, staying aloof from all the barking and jumping and begging.  After a minute or so, he comes up to get his scratch on the back and stroking along side the face that he likes so much. Some days, I just sit in the sun and he puts his head in my lap and we laugh and talk about the hunts around this country, about the times he's taken a "walkabout" in most of the states we've hunted, about his bullfight, wolf encounter, coyote love.  I do love dogs and I love this dog.  It's my memory I hate.