Losing My Compass

H. brought Dish into my life. It was a package deal. I wasn't really a 'big dog' kinda guy back then. I had a whippet. She was well mannered. Quiet. Refined. More human than dog in her behavior. Dish, on the other hand, was all dog. He loved to run amok and when he wasn't running amok, he was contemplating running amok. In essence, a free spirit.

He jumped on doors. Climbed kitchen walls to get to cat food. Chewed up my shoes. He was a wild child. As we grew to know one another, the chewing stopped (thanks to a near fatal beating with a chaco by H.), and he started mountain biking with me. That's when he really started to grow on me.

He loved to run alongside the bike, much like JD does now, only he would run amok whenever we'd stop. He loved running through tall grass. Swimming in stinky water. And just being. The only things that trumped all else were a good snurfle in the sun, riding in the truck, and eating horse poop.

As he aged, he got more subdued, but never lost that free spirit excitement about going out. He was a tolerant step-brother. A watchful big brother. And a cranky old man. But ever faithful, always loving, and always, always watching. After I lost Poey, Dish took on a more active role as a protector of me. He seemed to know what I needed even when I didn't.

A Dish's job: Keeping watch in the field...

And always letting his sister have the big bed...

And tolerating getting walked on in the car...

And leading the next generation along the path.

That damn dog taught me a lot about how I should be living my life. How to loosen up and just be in the moment. In essence, he reminded me how to have fun. Daily.

He even showed me the way out many times when I was lost in the woods. He was my compass and I will always be a little lost without him. Rest in peace my sweet Dishy waggle tail.