After Old Dog died, we didn’t know when we’d be ready for a new dog.
It hurts to type that out, even though I’ve moved on in the only way we humans can.
But in our plans, specifically Country Man’s, eventually a new pup would fill the empty space in the back of the pickup, and on those bitter December days, the cab.
However, neither one of us planned for what happened next…
Nearly two weeks after Old Dog left this world, Country Man received a call from his one and only coworker on the farm, telling him a very thin German short-hair ended up on the 6,500 acre farm. If he didn’t want him, he was going to shoot him, he said.
This man knows my husband, has worked with him for the past 13 years or so, and he could make the threat with confidence it wouldn’t have to be carried out.
We hopped in the pickup and drove over to take a look, to see the rail-thin whole breed who either ran off, or was left behind in the field.
He was a pitiful sight, to say the least.
After a few nights in the barn and no responses to our newspaper ads, his timidness dissipated with every outstretched hand of kindness and he came home to stay with us.
His loyalty at this point is undoubtedly to Country Man, and me, well, we’re back to square one with my small dog and kitty concerns.
I try to swat away the thoughts that compare him to Old Dog, because the differences are many and he can’t help that.
I wonder where he came from? was he left behind? was he loved? did he have miles of land to explore like he does now?
Probably won’t ever learn the answers to that.
Until then, this face, (and the barking, I am learning), will be a part of our life, whether we planned it or not.
Welcome aboard, friend. Hope you like your new life on the farm.