Images of yesterday, the beauty of what once was. My family loves dogs; we’ve had some canine family members over the years. The two dogs in the pictures were my parents West Highland Terriers, Fred, and Jessie. Fred was the larger of the two. Jessie was his little sister. The rest of the pictures are of grandchildren playing with my dad. When I think back over the dogs I’ve lived with I have many memories of the various dogs.
Loch Nessa was my mother’s dog. She may have joined the family as a dog for both my parents, but Nessie chooses my mother as her person. Phoebe was our Newfoundland; she decided that my little sister was her puppy and protected her from everything. MacGregor was our collie; he was my dad’s dog. He got very sick when he was about three years old. The vet came to our house (back in the day when they would, like Doctors still make house calls). He told us Mac was going to die, most likely that night or the next day at the latest. My dad wasn’t going to be home for three days. Mac stayed alive to say goodbye to my dad. He didn’t move for three days. But when my dad got home, he struggled to his feet and wagged his tail. He said goodbye to my dad and died that night.
Frosty was our first Great Pyrenees, and she was crazy. The duo was our second Great Pyrenees, and he was the most mellow guy. My sisters had dogs that they loved; there was Twit our Yorkshire Terrier and Roscoe P. Coletrain my little sister’s rescue dog.
The funny thing about Rescue Dogs is that they often get reduced from bad situations. But they rescue us when they join our families. Dylan and Raven are both rescue dogs, from the wonderful Lab Rescue of Maryland/Virginia. They, Raven and Dylan have rescued us.