Mosby waiting for a stick to be thrown
©1997 Bill Hollinger
Mosby waiting for a stick to be thrown
| Mosby rose each morning at 5:30. Each new day was so special
to him. We always likened it to the special happiness and excitement one sees in
children on a long anticipated holiday morning. Every awakening was the same. He
leaped, twisting in the air, barked and talked, bounced the special happy Bouvier
bounce and shared special morning kisses. Life, for Mosby, was always wonderful,
and his enthusiasm was awakened and renewed each day. Mosby was a talker. He had an incredible vocabulary of sounds, and if he couldn't find just the right Bouvier word for the occasion, he clicked his teeth. |
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| Communication was so important to him, and now that he is gone,
we realize how important it was to us too. Mom was always up first, and he never
left her side. They did everything together, laundry, catch-up office work, household
chores, or just plain time alone between the two of them - whatever it was, he was
right there, actively participating and verbalizing the entire time. When it was
time to fetch the morning newspapers, he never failed to put on a dazzling display
of his athletic prowess for her. He would race out of sight in the morning darkness,
disappear, then reappear in a flash of silver gray. There was always a bit of marking
to be done, and fresh scents to investigate. And his ever so accurate internal clock
never failed to remind him when it was 7:00, his breakfast time. Mosby was always waiting at the bottom of the stairs to greet me when I first came down each day. |
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Contents |
Herding | Carting
| Intelligence
| Mosby | Compendium
| Doggie Training
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