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NikPreviousAcct
No Lifer
:heart:
Enfer Singe
Senior member
smokey
Blew her chance meaning we're getting her fixed and she won't have any more pups. If I knew she was in heat, I would have kept her contained in the garden while I was gone. My brother-in-law was house-sitting for us while we were gone and he didn't have the common sense to shut her up or to complain to the neighbors when the neighbor dog was paying way too many visits.
And alkemyst, are you completely without a sense of humor?
We live out in the country with our nearest neighbor half a mile away, and we have livestock. Dogs bred for herding cattle are happier outside where they can run off their extra energy and are happiest when they're around farm animals. If I lived in the city, I wouldn't even own a dog, I can't stand having a dog in the house all the time.
And I just said what I did about her punishing us jokingly. We are not irresponsible pet owners, nor are we stupid.
alkemyst
No Lifer
There is obviously no point in debating this with you. You seem to miss the fact that your pet now had an unplanned litter. This is near the top of irresponsibility in pet owners.
Kids are also happiest outside, however; country or not responsible parents bring them in until they are old enough to know that walking out in front of machinery is bad.
Most 'farm' animals are in pens/fenced areas where they are not wondering about...most of the times dogs and cats free roam and freely are harmed and killed...
NikPreviousAcct
No Lifer
God do you ever stop? Just step away from the keyboard or find someone else's thread, k? :|
NikPreviousAcct
No Lifer
You have a lousy opinion because I don't go around saying so. I do post links when appropriate. You're being a butthead, so quit it or go find someone else's thread to butthead-up.
montanafan
Diamond Member
That's a unique looking pup, very cute though. Looks like a Buford or a Bo to me.
Edit: The Bo name reminded me of that poem by Jimmy Stewart about his dog named Beau.
He never came to me when I would call
Unless I had a tennis ball,
Or he felt like it,
But mostly he didn't come at all.
When he was young
He never learned to heel
Or sit or stay,
He did things his way.
Discipline was not his bag
But when you were with him things sure didn't drag.
He'd dig up a rosebush just to spite me,
And when I'd grab him, he'd turn and bite me.
He bit lots of folks from day to day,
The delivery boy was his favorite prey.
The gas man wouldn't read our meter,
He said we owned a real man-eater.
He set the house on fire
But the story's long to tell.
Suffice it to say that he survived
And the house survived as well.
On the evening walks, and Gloria took him,
He was always first out the door.
The Old One and I brought up the rear
Because our bones were sore.
He would charge up the street with Mom hanging on,
What a beautiful pair they were!
And if it was still light and the tourists were out,
They created a bit of a stir.
But every once in a while, he would stop in his tracks
And with a frown on his face look around.
It was just to make sure that the Old One was there
And would follow him where he was bound.
We are early-to-bedders at our house--
I guess I'm the first to retire.
And as I'd leave the room he'd look at me
And get up from his place by the fire.
He knew where the tennis balls were upstairs,
And I'd give him one for a while.
He would push it under the bed with his nose
And I'd fish it out with a smile.
And before very long
He'd tire of the ball
And be asleep in his corner
In no time at all.
And there were nights when I'd feel him
Climb upon our bed
And lie between us,
And I'd pat his head.
And there were nights when I'd feel this stare
And I'd wake up and he'd be sitting there
And I reach out my hand and stroke his hair.
And sometimes I'd feel him sigh
and I think I know the reason why.
He would wake up at night
And he would have this fear
Of the dark, of life, of lots of things,
And he'd be glad to have me near.
And now he's dead.
And there are nights when I think I feel him
Climb upon our bed and lie between us,
And I pat his head.
And there are nights when I think
I feel that stare
And I reach out my hand to stroke his hair,
But he's not there.
Oh, how I wish that wasn't so,
I'll always love a dog named Beau.
Edit: The Bo name reminded me of that poem by Jimmy Stewart about his dog named Beau.
He never came to me when I would call
Unless I had a tennis ball,
Or he felt like it,
But mostly he didn't come at all.
When he was young
He never learned to heel
Or sit or stay,
He did things his way.
Discipline was not his bag
But when you were with him things sure didn't drag.
He'd dig up a rosebush just to spite me,
And when I'd grab him, he'd turn and bite me.
He bit lots of folks from day to day,
The delivery boy was his favorite prey.
The gas man wouldn't read our meter,
He said we owned a real man-eater.
He set the house on fire
But the story's long to tell.
Suffice it to say that he survived
And the house survived as well.
On the evening walks, and Gloria took him,
He was always first out the door.
The Old One and I brought up the rear
Because our bones were sore.
He would charge up the street with Mom hanging on,
What a beautiful pair they were!
And if it was still light and the tourists were out,
They created a bit of a stir.
But every once in a while, he would stop in his tracks
And with a frown on his face look around.
It was just to make sure that the Old One was there
And would follow him where he was bound.
We are early-to-bedders at our house--
I guess I'm the first to retire.
And as I'd leave the room he'd look at me
And get up from his place by the fire.
He knew where the tennis balls were upstairs,
And I'd give him one for a while.
He would push it under the bed with his nose
And I'd fish it out with a smile.
And before very long
He'd tire of the ball
And be asleep in his corner
In no time at all.
And there were nights when I'd feel him
Climb upon our bed
And lie between us,
And I'd pat his head.
And there were nights when I'd feel this stare
And I'd wake up and he'd be sitting there
And I reach out my hand and stroke his hair.
And sometimes I'd feel him sigh
and I think I know the reason why.
He would wake up at night
And he would have this fear
Of the dark, of life, of lots of things,
And he'd be glad to have me near.
And now he's dead.
And there are nights when I think I feel him
Climb upon our bed and lie between us,
And I pat his head.
And there are nights when I think
I feel that stare
And I reach out my hand to stroke his hair,
But he's not there.
Oh, how I wish that wasn't so,
I'll always love a dog named Beau.
NikPreviousAcct
No Lifer
I want one but I don't have room here. 🙁
quackagator
Senior member
Dingo
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