Saturday, May 27, 2017

Thursday, May 25, 2017


A year-old pooped hiker.
Not the best first impression, but after a quick, nonchalant piss by the back door - the only indoor accident he ever had, by the way - Casey accepted the fact that he was home. 

 Swapping the submissive role as the timid runt of a litter of seven on a farm in the middle of nowhere for the revered status as a joyful arrival with a fenced-in backyard in the Great Northwest had to be a relief for our half-starved new charge. After all, his nose was OK, in spite of getting zapped, and his new feeders were doting all over him.

Cautiously at first, Casey eventually devoured his first meal under his new roof. He was obviously going to be an excellent eater. How long we wondered had he been settling for the leavings of six siblings.

Vic and I noticed right away that Casey appeared to be emaciated, barely twenty pounds. And he was seven months old instead of ten. His paperwork clearly indicated that his birthday was December 7, 2007. Obviously Casey (Bob) had not been the pick of the litter. And who wanted to deal with a fearful, timid Border Collie in a farming community. 

But things were looking up. We'd see to it.

Saturday, May 20, 2017

The next chapter in our life was about to begin so it was crucial that Casey's introduction to the leader of our pack Victoria went without a hitch.  The plan: Vic would arrive at home shortly after I got our boy settled.  Treats on the front porch for the meet-and-greet. CharlIe Bears are usually a sure thing.

"Mom" passed through the house and approached a bewildered Casey at the backdoor threshold with an outstretched hand.  A soothing, irresistible, almost lyrical "Hi, little guy" prefaced her Charlie Bear bribe as Casey cautiously went for the offering.

Finger tips to pink and black nose, practically face to muzzle.  Just as we'd planned...until Vic and I heard the snap of static electricity, generated from her glide across the living room carpet.  This best laid plan resulted in our new kid frantically looking for a way out of the backyard. From berm to berm, bush to bush, Casey was probably wondering what he had gotten into.  And just what kind of people were we anyway?

In spite of this inauspicious start, after several anxious moments, careful, very careful, coaxing - I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, little boy - resulted in a group hug on the end of the deck. The first of thousands.  We were a pack.