This here is Hank, a simple dog but very loyal. He's as gentle as they come with the family but... That's where it ends, when strangers around, we call him "stone cold killer"
Man's best friend, post a pic
Mad Oshea
Taking a break
I like Hank!! I had to put Baby Girl down the other day.. Yes it still hurts.. She was a trouper at 18 1/2 yrs. My wife still cries and please post more of Your cool and loved pets. Makes Us feel at home. I will post a pic of her in the baccy for all of You to see in a bit. R.I.P. Baby Girl!
Mad Oshea
Taking a break
A Z22-E for Yer 280z- HHO and no dodge's" And I'll Take any good dog You have .Ha! Man has more than just dogs for best friends for sure. I'll trade a 77 Datsun 280Z for that Camaro.
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My EX Plymouth.
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Mad Oshea
Taking a break
Hank needs a hug! Look at him. SEEEEEEEE! Can I use Hank for My avitar? Mine sucks?
Sorry about your "baby girl" 18 and a half is a good long life though.
Feel free to use hank as avatar Mad Oshea
Mad Oshea
Taking a break
I saved this little guy from a wren. He is a Mexican brown bat. He will fill in for Baby Girl till Linda gets a new pup. He eats bug squish from the pet store. I'v got to let him go as soon as the wrens are not around.
daniel draeving
Well-Known Member
Sorry to hear about your dog Mad Oshea, I had to put my bloodhound Ruger down about 6 years ago and it still bothers me..you sure can get attached them.
Mad Oshea
Taking a break
I let BATLY go last night so he could get the bugs he needs. Sorry the pic. is fuzzy, Greg thought he was bitting Me. His chin was on My thumb. He climbed a couple of feet up the wall and off he went. I have seen some realy neat pups here on this post and am glad Don started it. I hung Her dress (collar) on the nail and coppied some pics for My wife. Sorry about Ruger as well daniel draeving. It seems rescue dogs and muts become a prize.
Mad Oshea
Taking a break
This was Baby Girl in My junk room with Alex.
Shanghai's Flower Bed
Old man and his dog.
It's been nearly 3 years since Shanghai died on a cold, drizzling night just before Christmas in 2011. She was old and arthritic, blind and deaf by the time her hour arrived at 13 years of age. I burried her the following morning in the lightly thawed ground above the garden beds, where she used to lay down to watch me work the tobacco.
We had a special bond. She was a 100 pound, fluffy-haired beast of a Sharpei mix that my son had adopted as a puppy from a shelter. Starting out as a fuzzy, giant burrito, she grew rapidly into a mighty animal who enjoyed hauling me up steep backpacking trails. The two of us walked hundreds of miles of the Appalachian Trail, in Georgia, North Carolina, Tennessee and Virginia.
Before she was 12 weeks old, I had trained her (like a field dog) to follow both voice commands and hand signals. When she was about 18 months old, I put a dog pack over her back for the first time, and she gloried in wearing it from that day forward (carrying all of her own food, water and minimal doggie gear, on treks ranging from one to eight days). If she saw me simply lift the dog pack from the closet, she would begin to dance in circles, eager to hit the trail.
She did not like going into water. On one trail--near the Virginia-West Virginia border--that crossed a creek on a single-log bridge, which she could not take advantage of, she refused to wade into the early spring run-off to cross. Unable to carry her, and still navigate the slippery rocks, I (now barefoot) was forced to drag her by her harness through the 15' width of the crossing.
We returned by the same route the following day. I crossed the log bridge, then began to untie my boots, in order to go back and get Shanghai across. She was gone. My immediate thought was that the previous crossing had been so horrid for her, that she had fled at the prospect of repeating it. I turned around to make sure my pack would be safe, while I went off to look for her. And there she sat, beside my pack, dripping wet. Can a dog show an expression of pride? She did.
As the years passed, she became progressively unable to hear my voice commands or see my hand signals. So she seemed to work at anticipating what I expected of her. Her little doggie brain accepted her limitations without sign of fretting or suffering. A life lesson for me.
Until she died, I had no idea of how profound a grief one could experience at the loss of a pet. I do miss that stinky old dog.
Shanghai and Bob in 2006.
Old man and his dog.
It's been nearly 3 years since Shanghai died on a cold, drizzling night just before Christmas in 2011. She was old and arthritic, blind and deaf by the time her hour arrived at 13 years of age. I burried her the following morning in the lightly thawed ground above the garden beds, where she used to lay down to watch me work the tobacco.
We had a special bond. She was a 100 pound, fluffy-haired beast of a Sharpei mix that my son had adopted as a puppy from a shelter. Starting out as a fuzzy, giant burrito, she grew rapidly into a mighty animal who enjoyed hauling me up steep backpacking trails. The two of us walked hundreds of miles of the Appalachian Trail, in Georgia, North Carolina, Tennessee and Virginia.
Before she was 12 weeks old, I had trained her (like a field dog) to follow both voice commands and hand signals. When she was about 18 months old, I put a dog pack over her back for the first time, and she gloried in wearing it from that day forward (carrying all of her own food, water and minimal doggie gear, on treks ranging from one to eight days). If she saw me simply lift the dog pack from the closet, she would begin to dance in circles, eager to hit the trail.
She did not like going into water. On one trail--near the Virginia-West Virginia border--that crossed a creek on a single-log bridge, which she could not take advantage of, she refused to wade into the early spring run-off to cross. Unable to carry her, and still navigate the slippery rocks, I (now barefoot) was forced to drag her by her harness through the 15' width of the crossing.
We returned by the same route the following day. I crossed the log bridge, then began to untie my boots, in order to go back and get Shanghai across. She was gone. My immediate thought was that the previous crossing had been so horrid for her, that she had fled at the prospect of repeating it. I turned around to make sure my pack would be safe, while I went off to look for her. And there she sat, beside my pack, dripping wet. Can a dog show an expression of pride? She did.
As the years passed, she became progressively unable to hear my voice commands or see my hand signals. So she seemed to work at anticipating what I expected of her. Her little doggie brain accepted her limitations without sign of fretting or suffering. A life lesson for me.
Until she died, I had no idea of how profound a grief one could experience at the loss of a pet. I do miss that stinky old dog.
Shanghai and Bob in 2006.
charlie G.
Well-Known Member
This is Rocky from a year ago at around 6 months old.
Here he is when he learned that fetching his kong toy is the best thing on the face of the earth.
he's 1 1/2yrs old now.
Here he is when he learned that fetching his kong toy is the best thing on the face of the earth.
he's 1 1/2yrs old now.
Rocky has the exact same gaze in both photos. It says, "Pet me. You are my favorite person."
Bob
Bob
The thing that is so unfair about dogs is that they don't live nearly long enough. I'm on number four and he'll likely be my last.
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charlie G.
Well-Known Member
That's the truth, they are gone way to quick.
Just like children: you get 12, maybe 13 years, then they mutate into a stranger.
Bob
forumdotabaco
Well-Known Member
adoption may be the way to go fmgrowit , it will be easer to deal with the pain when it comes.
Gdaddy
Well-Known Member
Shanghai's Flower Bed
Old man and his dog.
It's been nearly 3 years since Shanghai died on a cold, drizzling night just before Christmas in 2011. She was old and arthritic, blind and deaf by the time her hour arrived at 13 years of age. I burried her the following morning in the lightly thawed ground above the garden beds, where she used to lay down to watch me work the tobacco.
We had a special bond. She was a 100 pound, fluffy-haired beast of a Sharpei mix that my son had adopted as a puppy from a shelter. Starting out as a fuzzy, giant burrito, she grew rapidly into a mighty animal who enjoyed hauling me up steep backpacking trails. The two of us walked hundreds of miles of the Appalachian Trail, in Georgia, North Carolina, Tennessee and Virginia.
Before she was 12 weeks old, I had trained her (like a field dog) to follow both voice commands and hand signals. When she was about 18 months old, I put a dog pack over her back for the first time, and she gloried in wearing it from that day forward (carrying all of her own food, water and minimal doggie gear, on treks ranging from one to eight days). If she saw me simply lift the dog pack from the closet, she would begin to dance in circles, eager to hit the trail.
She did not like going into water. On one trail--near the Virginia-West Virginia border--that crossed a creek on a single-log bridge, which she could not take advantage of, she refused to wade into the early spring run-off to cross. Unable to carry her, and still navigate the slippery rocks, I (now barefoot) was forced to drag her by her harness through the 15' width of the crossing.
We returned by the same route the following day. I crossed the log bridge, then began to untie my boots, in order to go back and get Shanghai across. She was gone. My immediate thought was that the previous crossing had been so horrid for her, that she had fled at the prospect of repeating it. I turned around to make sure my pack would be safe, while I went off to look for her. And there she sat, beside my pack, dripping wet. Can a dog show an expression of pride? She did.
As the years passed, she became progressively unable to hear my voice commands or see my hand signals. So she seemed to work at anticipating what I expected of her. Her little doggie brain accepted her limitations without sign of fretting or suffering. A life lesson for me.
Until she died, I had no idea of how profound a grief one could experience at the loss of a pet. I do miss that stinky old dog.
Shanghai and Bob in 2006.
A great heartfelt story. Thanks for sharing.
Bex
Well-Known Member
x2. A wonderfully, lovely story.
I have 8 cats and a dog, all of whom were either strays, abused or in trouble when I found them. This is Tucker:
I found her in the local supermarket - she was actually in it, and one of the workers brought her back out to the parking lot and dumped her there. She had apparently been a stray in the town for over 6 months. When I brought her home, her first poo had plastic and garbage in it, from what she was scrounging on the road. I've had her now for about 8 years - she was around 1 when I found her.
And Tucker acting like an idiot with my cat, Darwin, while I'm in the tunnel planting out the tobacco.
I found Darwin, as well - she was a kitten who had some kind of head injury when I found her on the road, trying to hide in a crevice of a stone wall. I named her Darwin as I felt if, left to her own devices, she wouldn't have lasted in the wild very long. She has no sense of balance. She can't really run, but canters like a horse in a showcase. And when she does that quickly, her hind end catches up to the front - quite funny, actually.
Sometimes, the strays just tend to make it down here, other times I just come across them somewhere. I have a personal rule that I am "karmically" compelled to assist anything that passes within a 20 foot radius of me, that is in trouble. My last 'save' was an absolutely gorgeous, long haired white kitten that someone dumped in the center of a busy town, on the sidewalk. I was driving, and notice something in distress out of the corner of my eye. It was this little kitten that would run down the sidewalk, see a person, run out into the street, see a car, run back on to the sidewalk, etc. It was totally panic stricken. I pulled my car over, walked out into the middle of the road and stopped all the traffic, including the tourist bus that was coming into the town. With everything stopped, the kitten ran under a car. I got down on my back, shimmied under the car, and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. And here he is, kinda sleepy:
I have 8 cats and a dog, all of whom were either strays, abused or in trouble when I found them. This is Tucker:
I found her in the local supermarket - she was actually in it, and one of the workers brought her back out to the parking lot and dumped her there. She had apparently been a stray in the town for over 6 months. When I brought her home, her first poo had plastic and garbage in it, from what she was scrounging on the road. I've had her now for about 8 years - she was around 1 when I found her.
And Tucker acting like an idiot with my cat, Darwin, while I'm in the tunnel planting out the tobacco.
I found Darwin, as well - she was a kitten who had some kind of head injury when I found her on the road, trying to hide in a crevice of a stone wall. I named her Darwin as I felt if, left to her own devices, she wouldn't have lasted in the wild very long. She has no sense of balance. She can't really run, but canters like a horse in a showcase. And when she does that quickly, her hind end catches up to the front - quite funny, actually.
Sometimes, the strays just tend to make it down here, other times I just come across them somewhere. I have a personal rule that I am "karmically" compelled to assist anything that passes within a 20 foot radius of me, that is in trouble. My last 'save' was an absolutely gorgeous, long haired white kitten that someone dumped in the center of a busy town, on the sidewalk. I was driving, and notice something in distress out of the corner of my eye. It was this little kitten that would run down the sidewalk, see a person, run out into the street, see a car, run back on to the sidewalk, etc. It was totally panic stricken. I pulled my car over, walked out into the middle of the road and stopped all the traffic, including the tourist bus that was coming into the town. With everything stopped, the kitten ran under a car. I got down on my back, shimmied under the car, and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. And here he is, kinda sleepy:
My new male German Shepherd puppy. Four months old. He's the replacement for a 15 yr. old we had to put to sleep over the summer. The little guy has some big shoes to fill. Names Chief. It was hard to beat free. His sidekick is Ellie, she's 3 yrs. old.
