It is a complicated thing trying to explain to a non believer how much pleasure you can get from the company of a dog. Outside of a dog a book is a man's best friend. Inside of a dog it's too dark to read, a quotation attributed to Mark Twain, about sums up how I feel about Cheyenne. She came into my life in December 2009 and even though she was given up to the pound on the grounds of being too old (?) I expect she has a few more good years left in her. I'd be as ready to give her up to the pound as I would be to cut my own heart out. She has traveled across country with us in the car, been all across the South visiting various friends and relations and she has thus suffered mightily at the hands of my wanderlust. Cheyenne exhibits unnatural abilities to make up her own mind, she knows what she wants, and she lets me know in no uncertain terms. When I have been bedridden with the 'flu she has slept with me and when I have been to tired to walk her she has failed signally to show her disappointment. My tribute to my ever patient dog:
Ocracoke, North Carolina.
Waiting for me to come home in the morning.
Santa Cruz California, not dog happy.
Not impressed enough by summer in Cheyenne, Wyoming to step out of the car.
The Appalachian mountains.
Porter Sesnon State Park, Santa Cruz County, California.
Sharing my Iron Butt certificate.