“People often wondered why Siegfried kept five dogs. Not only kept them, but took them everywhere with him. Driving on his rounds it was difficult to see him at all among the shaggy heads and waving tails; and anybody approaching the car would recoil in terror from the savage barking and the bared fangs and glaring eyes framed in the windows.
‘I cannot for the life of me understand,’ Siegfried would declare, thumping his fist on his knee, ‘why people keep dogs as pets. A dog should have a useful function. Let it be used for farm work, for shooting, for guiding; but why anybody should keep the things just hanging around the place beats me.’
It was a pronouncement he was continually making, often through a screen of flapping ears and lolling tongues as he sat in his car. His listener would look wonderingly from the huge greyhound to the tiny terrier, from the spaniel to the whippet to the Scottie; but nobody ever asked Siegfried why he kept his own dogs.”
— James Herriot, All Things Bright and Beautiful (1972)
I have two rescue dogs. Had. Now I have a third, Aaron. He’s a 9-month-old Los Angeles street stray. Long legs, an intent little face, and a thick, curly auburn coat like a Chesapeake Bay retriever. He’s all of 15 pounds. Here he is in his new bed.
It was an 8-hour round-trip up to Los Angeles to get him at a no-kill rescue (which had saved him from one of LA’s infamous high-kill shelters). I’m still pretty tired from both the drive, and from the expected fuss from a new puppy, settling into an established pack.
Why get yet another rescue dog? I’ll discuss this in more detail in a couple of days. Right now, I’m going to go snuggle up in the living room with the rest of the pack. ❤