This is my sister's chocolate lab, Candy. (Oh, and my sister Maria and her husband, Tom are in the photo too.) Don't blame her for the dog's name. Candy was adopted from a puppy breeding operation and the name came with her.
Not that she knows her name, mind you. I've come to love her but she's quite strange. Perhaps that's no wonder, given her history. It strikes me as creepy that she was forced to have litter after litter for over ten years. The poor thing. My sister adopted her two years ago and she's 12 now -- pretty darn old for a dog.
She's almost deaf and only able to hear the loudest noises. I'm also not sure how much she can smell. Since I live nearby, I walk her whenever my sister is off gallivanting. During those walks, she's like any dog, nose to the ground and wildly interested in certain scents. So she smells something.
But she can't find her way home. Isn't that what dog's noses help them do? Well, Candy's doesn't. We lost her a couple of times, once for several weeks. She just wandered off. Isn't every dog supposed to be able to find her way home after a bit of a wander? This one can't.
She's quite lame now in one of her rear legs, and even falls over at times seemingly for no reason. She can't walk up or down stairs, so we carry her. She's a wreck but what can you do? She's old. Still, she appears happy and doesn't seem to be in too much pain. Don't worry -- we'll have her euthanized if it comes to that. We won't let her suffer. But as I say, she seems happy -- very happy.
The dog lives for my sister. In the photo above (and at every instant in her life) she's gazing adoringly at my sister. She seems to have her confused with god. These two have been in perfect synch since the day she brought the dog home. Candy also loves my mother and, here's the shock, my mother likes her back! She usually pushes animals away, but this dog she allows in her bedroom. The dog's so sweet she just wins you over.
Dogs: each one is a treasure and this one's ours, even if she can't find her way home. We like her just as she is and we'll make sure she's comfortable. We have to. She's family.
Not that she knows her name, mind you. I've come to love her but she's quite strange. Perhaps that's no wonder, given her history. It strikes me as creepy that she was forced to have litter after litter for over ten years. The poor thing. My sister adopted her two years ago and she's 12 now -- pretty darn old for a dog.
She's almost deaf and only able to hear the loudest noises. I'm also not sure how much she can smell. Since I live nearby, I walk her whenever my sister is off gallivanting. During those walks, she's like any dog, nose to the ground and wildly interested in certain scents. So she smells something.
But she can't find her way home. Isn't that what dog's noses help them do? Well, Candy's doesn't. We lost her a couple of times, once for several weeks. She just wandered off. Isn't every dog supposed to be able to find her way home after a bit of a wander? This one can't.
She's quite lame now in one of her rear legs, and even falls over at times seemingly for no reason. She can't walk up or down stairs, so we carry her. She's a wreck but what can you do? She's old. Still, she appears happy and doesn't seem to be in too much pain. Don't worry -- we'll have her euthanized if it comes to that. We won't let her suffer. But as I say, she seems happy -- very happy.
The dog lives for my sister. In the photo above (and at every instant in her life) she's gazing adoringly at my sister. She seems to have her confused with god. These two have been in perfect synch since the day she brought the dog home. Candy also loves my mother and, here's the shock, my mother likes her back! She usually pushes animals away, but this dog she allows in her bedroom. The dog's so sweet she just wins you over.
Dogs: each one is a treasure and this one's ours, even if she can't find her way home. We like her just as she is and we'll make sure she's comfortable. We have to. She's family.
