What ever happened to that other dog?

After last week’s email about a story as part of the sales agreement for the land in Kentucky, some readers asked to hear the story.

Good idea. I’ll wait until Scott has heard it, then share it here.


On June 24th, Roxie and I celebrated our 1st anniversary of our Gotcha Day.

Earlier that week, as she and I came in from our morning walk, we met Mary in the condo lobby. Mary and her husband are dog people, and Mary bent over to scratch the top of Roxie’s flat and thickly-haired head.

As Roxie and Mary enjoyed the petting, Mary asked, “What ever happened to that other dog? The one who was so… uncomfortable around people?”

“This is that dog.”

Mary looked up. Stood up. “You’re a miracle worker.”

I give less credit to miracles and more to two trainers, plus the patience Roxie and I gave each other. We both wanted it to work.

During those early months (not the earliest, when I thought we might not make it), there were times I watched Roxie, puzzled by how different she was from every other dog I’ve ever had.

“Huh. I guess this breed doesn’t __________.”

Fill in the blank with:

  • Run
  • Wag their tail.
  • Stretch when they get up.
  • Lay their tail all the way down when they sleep.

Roxie does those things now. She even walks differently. When I first got her, she walked like a locomotive, her body completely stiff, her short legs chugging her forward.

Now she has a wiggle in her walk.

In her bed, Roxie will roll over so I can scratch her belly. If I’m sitting on the floor, she’ll sit beside me so I can pet her. If I forget to kiss her goodnight, she’ll come into my bedroom to remind me.

This dog was that dog.

Chewing the Cud of Good

Jule and Roxie, closeup

Thankful for Roxie.



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