A Dog's Tale

Going through the Chronicle-Gazette's archives the other day, I ran across a sort of biography of a dog. It said that he was a sort of Scottish Terrier mix, which would account for the stern eyebrows in the dog's photo.

He'd stood out from his littermates: mostly because his combination of huge paws, clumsiness and enthusiasm sent him careening into walls, off steps, and into water dishes more often than the rest combined.

As he grew, his body continued to lag behind his paws: but he became slightly less clumsy. And, if anything, more energetic.

He lived on a farm, so he had plenty of room to run. Which was fine, until the day when he, chasing some critter nobody else could see, ran into the business end of a combine.

His owner had seen the dog coming, and cut power, but the kinetic canine (I know: but that's how the dog bio put it) still had to be disentangled from the reel. The vet told his owner that it'd be kinder to put the dog down, but a bond had formed between human and klutz. The dog, now minus his right ear and a few teeth, went home a week later.

And kept out of trouble all winter. During spring planting, apparently in an effort to catch a seeder, he ran under the wheels of a truck.

This time the dog came home with three legs, and no hope of siring puppies of his own.

The dog's name? Lucky.