Yep, Mo likes to roam. We’re pretty sure that he’s The Town Father. He has a roaming eye for the ladies. That might make him not so popular in town, but he really is a nice dog.
While I am definitely a “dog” person (yes, I hate cats. There. I said it.), I like a certain kind of dog. Maybe like isn’t strong enough. I love a certain kind of dog. Almost as much as I cannot tolerate a certain kind of dog. Let me clarify.
I like dogs that don’t go into a a barking fit every 5 seconds…Oooo, a butterfly. Oooo a car pulled into the driveway…in another town. Oooo, a caterpillar in the garden just moved. Mo barks for extremely important stuff…skunks, snakes, a wandering calf. That, I can handle.
I like dogs that love it when you toss them something to eat…and don’t sit staring at you while you munch on a cookie…waiting, hoping, praying that you’ll drop a crumb. Mo doesn’t care one way or the other. He can either flop down for a quick nap or just grab it out unsuspecting hands and gulp the crumb down. That begging thing is a waste of his precious energy.
I like dogs that don’t lick. And stick their cold noses all over you. Leave my toes ALONE! Mo will plop down next to you and wait. Wait for a pat, a hug, a word or two….anything. But if you ignore him, that’s ok too. Time for another nap.
He’s the image of his predecessor, Colt. Colt was a Christmas present to our youngest son from our oldest son. He was a natural born hunter. The boys didn’t train him for 3 or 4 years, then when they decided to work with him, he was way ahead of the game. He became our hunters’ favorite dog. They all loved Colt.
Colt was my guardian when Big Boss was away. When the men folk went on their annual elk hunt, Colt started barking in the front yard the night after packed up and drove west. Just as I stepped outside to see what was all the ruckus was about, Colt rocketed past me…in the dark…chasing something. About the time he got to the fence, I heard a loud THUD followed by yelping.
Since it was dark, I couldn’t see what was going on, so like a goofball, I ran out to Colt. He was sprawled out whining, and couldn’t move. I ran for a flashlight and couldn’t see what the problem was. One thing was for sure, Colt wasn’t going anywhere. All I could figure out was that he had run top speed and full force into one of the stone posts that support the fence. Who would’ve dreamed a dog could get hurt running into a rock fence?! But he did. He broke a leg.
Later, it dawned on me that I really shouldn’t have been running around in the dark. What was he chasing?!!! Don’t want to think about it. He recovered to lead many, many hunts.
But Colt got old and sick and eventually, went to Dog Heaven.
That’s where Mo comes in. About a year later.
Mo is probably 100 degrees more laid back than old Colt. But he gets around. He loves to walk with me. And he adores the grands. That adoration is bountifully returned. He hangs at the farm a lot. Chases the farm cats. Barks at skunks and coons. And sleeps a lot. Can’t ask for much more than that.
Plus, he did not learn to poop into my flower barrels. That gives him all sorts of bonus points in my book!!!
So here’s to Mo. My walking companion, who I suspect, goes with me only so he can pee on every weed between here and there…so he can chase skunks in the pasture…so he can take a flying leap into the Pike’s Peak Pond to chase a turtle…so he can be…the goofball that he is.