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February 08, 2005
Woof
There's some pictures I took of the dog about a month ago. He sure was old, eh? I'm a fan of the bottom one, but my mom said it makes him look sad. He was never very sad though, he he.
The thing about Indy the Dog was that he didn't train well. I had a dickens of a time trying to get him to look at me for those pictures. He wouldn't even look when I said his name!
Back when he was a young dog, I tried forever to get him to learn how to shake hands. I must have tried for about six months to teach him, but he was having none of it. Over and over, I'd take his paw and put it in my hand, and say "shake!" But he never figured out what I was trying to do. That, or he didn't care.
The only thing I think he really, truly cared about was food. He came running at the sound of a can opener, or at the sight of a styrofoam box. If we barbecued outside, he'd beg until we threw him a scrap.
I also tried to teach him to sit, and I don't think he ever learned that, either. The only way I could get him to sit down was to hold a piece of food over his head, and I think he would do that simply so that he could see the food better.
He was such a mild mannered dog, too. He loved to get a pat on the head from people. One day, he escaped from the backyard and went walkabout in the neighborhood. We live out in the country, so the houses are spread out a good bit. He walked down the driveway and over to our neighbors' house, who were having a garage sale. We found him a few hours later, sitting under a table and schmoozing with all the visitors. An enterprising dog could have been halfway to Cincinnati at that point. He was quite a character.
Now, before him, we had a dog called Stanley. For some odd reason, he was named after my grandfather. I always thought Stanley was a strange name for a dog, but I didn't get to pick it. Stanley was actually five or six years older than me, so I always had to treat him reverently when he was around. He was nice to me, though: an excellent canine big brother.
Stanley was a menace to everyone else, though. He used to jump through windows and chase down the mailman. Another day, he ate a cactus, and then a pot of poinsettias. Later, after we had moved into our new house - the one my parents still live in - he climbed onto the stove to get a cake that my mom had baked. In the process, he switched on a burner and almost burned the whole kitchen.
Other times he would run away for the hell of it. He was so tall, that he was able to climb the backyard fence. I think he ran away because that after we caught him, my dad always took him out for ice cream.
Once, when he was old, he ran away. We found him walking along the road about a quarter mile from our house. He didn't resist: he climbed right up into the car and got his ice cream.
When he died, we planted a dogwood tree on our lawn, and that tree is now twelve or thirteen feet tall. That was a long time ago, but I still have a lot of memories of ol' Stanley.
We got Indiana a five or six months after Stanley died. Somebody at my dad's work found him walking along the road one day; we met him and everyone thought he was the sweetest dog ever. He came home on Valentine's Day, 1990, so it would have been fifteen years on Monday that we had him.
Like I said, he was a character. Truly a great dog. It'll be strange not having him around.
Posted by oz115 at February 8, 2005 10:04 PM
Comments
Looks like a real friendly fellow. My condolences.
Posted by: Pete at February 9, 2005 10:19 AM