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.

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