He was the only dog at the pound who wasn't jumping on the cage and barking at us. He sat there wagging his tail with a kind look on his face - the kind of look that conveyed a simple message "please take me outside so I can pee". A couple of days later we welcomed him into the family.
After an early episode involving rightful ownership of a ham bone set the pecking order, we settled into a comfortable routine. We provided food and water, he kept the motorcycles and snowplows out. We provided each other with a wonderful companionship.
One of the benefits of living in the country is great outdoors. Woody loved the neighborhood. For quite some time his routine involved an afternoon stroll to "the campers" (Karen & Mike over the hill) where he would politely knock on the door, be greeted with a dog biscuit, stroll over to Karen's corner and take a nap. An hour later the visit would be over and he'd get up, stretch his legs and say goodbye. He'd go visit Sandy the yellow lab up the hill or one of Caroline Gamble's dogs. And one in a while he'd wander over to the farm to see how Betsey and Sara were doing.
In recent years he had slowed down. He stayed closer to home, didn't go after the loud vehicles - mostly because he couldn't hear them. But he always greeted visitors - happy to show them where the fine silver is kept (like we have any). A skin condition turned much of his black to brown and old age turned his face gray. And he slept a lot.
The end came quickly. Quick is good, but I didn't get to say goodbye. We were in Florida on a project and there was nothing I could do except support Alex who was dealing with all of this.
And now the house is quieter. The cats have become a bit less wary, less on edge. I prefer them on edge. No one to help clean plates and with winter approaching, no one to keep the snowplows out. It's just not the same. Goodbye my friend.
