So when Andy wrote about the farm dog, I thought ‘hmm, not a person, but definitely a huge contributor to WHF’. So here it is in tribute to the one and only farm dog.
I was about 14, I think, and my mom and I (and maybe Will too), were driving past the animal shelter when seemingly out of the bright blue sky mom suggests getting a dog… Really? Of course we were all for it and we went and looked and there he was. They called him a ‘Christmas Puppy’, the kind that shows up under the tree with a big bow and then ends up abandoned a little while later on the side of the highway, once the novelty wore off. So he became our dog. The farm dog named after the Tolkien wizard. He was afraid of the chickens, the compost bucket,wheelchairs, people with hats and the broom, but he settled in quite well. He became Margaret’s companion even going into retreat with her on ocassion. He was affectionate and loyal. We loved him dearly and he lived a very long and full life on forest trails and the warm kitchen floor. He died this past year and is buried under an old apple tree near the farmhouse.
