Dogs

My grandson just got a new dog.  She is a yellow lab, about a year old.  What energy!  She just can't understand why my old dog, Betsy, won't play with her all day.  Betsy will fetch her ball a few times, but then it's nap time.  New dog bounds around the yard like a deer chasing whatever moves.
I started remembering my dogs.  My first dog, Chum, was a springer spaniel.  I was just a toddler, I can hardly remember her, but I have pictures of my dad holding me as I sat on her.  The next dog I remember was Judy, a ranch dog that had been bitten on the mouth by a rattlesnake.  When we lived in Minnesota, we had a beagle.  She was such a hunter!  When I walked her in the city park, she would find a rabbit trail and be off like a flash.  The only way I could catch her would be to stand on the trail and grab her as she went by.  Some years later, my daughter had a dachshund terrier mix--built like a dachshund but had the coat of a terrier.  We named him Napolian, even though he was little he wasn't scared of anything.  He would chase a Great Dane if the opportunity arose.  When the kids left home, somehow or other I ended up taking care of their pets.  The first dog I could actually call my own is my sweet Betsy, black lab, Queensland heeler mix.  She broke her back leg when she was just a puppy so now has some arthritis.  She is a calm, happy dog.  We get along together fine--a little bit of exercise, play a little bit, and take naps.