Goodbye to The Chigger
Chigger -- my first, best and only mentor -- passed away yesterday. 15 years old. This is her last picture. Notice who she's hanging out with? The Gerret! I'm proud of that. Not bad considering she used to cuss me out on a regular basis. I wasn't too tolerable in the early days. (I wrote about those rough times here, here and here.)
Chigger wasn't a loud dog, but it seems awfully quiet around here today all the same. She used to tell me stories about things I can't even imagine. Like the 20th century, telephones with leashes and a time when dogs didn't have blogs. She was a pioneer in that regard. Of course back then the squirrels were always faster, the holes were always deeper, unwelcome visitors were always scared-er and the garden never lost one single solitary strawberry to a deer on Chigger's watch. I think she might have been the first dog.
But mainly she was a proud working dog and her increasing infirmities embarrassed her. As she used to tell me, "People think we dogs do what we do because we want to. But that's wrong. Dogs do what we do because it's what people want us to do, as best as we can figure out from their poor communications skills. We're here to protect and serve. That's the fun part."
The Gerret's got some big paws to fill.
