Misty Is Three!

Today our Misty is three years old. That makes her an adult dog. Finally. Cute as puppies are, as wonderful as it has been to go on this three year pathway to her adulthood, I am so glad the puppy days are over. I am a dog person not a puppy person.

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I went searching for a quote or a saying to describe Misty as a unique dog among the many dogs I have been privileged to share company with over the years. I found this one and it has our Misty written all over it.

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β€œIt is amazing how much love and laughter they bring into our lives and even how much closer we become with each other because of them.” – John Grogan (Author, Marley & Me)

Misty is a wonderful dog. She has that quiet easy going, love all people temperament of a typical golden retriever. (Admittedly only after appropriate introductions.) Yet she also has the resolute stand by and guard attitude of the German Shepard. When you first meet her she is standoffish and cool, acting to assess your personality and how her people feel about you. If she knows we’re good with you, then she is good with you.

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I’ll never forget the time she went swimming with dolphins. And Pawdy Gras will also be a special memory. One of the worst moments of life with her was when I saw her attacked by two pit bulls. It was then I learned just how fast and tough she can be. When they attacked, she leapt up like a deer and spun like a dervish so they never did get a good grip. She even had one pit bull on the ground on its back pinned by the throat in fight, yet she did not kill that dog even though she could have and it certainly would have killed her if the situation had been reversed. Once she had one dog pinned the other attacker went after the downed dog instead and we were able to make our escape while they fought each other. Misty was bloodied and punctured but the injuries were all minor.

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When Dick had his first query stroke, Misty was the one who stuck right beside him during his recovery, guarded him every second and alerted me if he did anything funny or weird. We had a lot of false alarms. She once came to fetch me because he was yawning and then he sneezed at the same time. One should sneeze or yawn but not do both together. Even so, I was so very glad she was there because I felt comfortable going out and working in the yard with him inside. I knew Misty would fetch me if anything happened. She seemed to be able to sense his blank out spells well before me. If I watched her, I could see one coming and make sure he got to bed safely to rest. As he recovered, she became less and less intense in her minding of him until by December he had reverted to his usual place of ‘mere’ beloved Master.

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Misty proved her worth again at the second stroke. I am a heavy sleeper and he collapsed at 3:15 am and could not move or speak. It was Misty who woke me up, fussing and whining because this was not right and he should not be lying on the floor waving one arm feebly. I called an ambulance and she seemed to immediately “get” they were there to help. She greeted them with joy and sat watching nearby, her tail wagging, even though she is usually so wary of strangers at first meeting. While he was in hospital, she stayed with me in the hotel or waited in the truck while I was with him. I would drive to the nearby MacDonald’s going to and from the hospital. She was always sad when I came back without him. I would get myself something and then ask her if she would like her usual, a small plain burger with cheese and bacon. She never said no. She would hang out the truck window watching them in the drive through and bark at them if they didn’t bring that order quickly enough. Even after weeks at lock down if you say “Drive through” she perks up. She almost fell apart in her joy when he finally was helped into the truck to go home.

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What else can I say about her? She’s a dog. If it’s weird, bark about it until we come and say it’s all right. She likes to chew on bones. She loves cheese and bacon treats. She likes to play with two big horse balls with handles. She doesn’t like fireworks. She’s indifferent to gunfire. She’s still trying to excavate the foundation and looks so upset when I refill the holes. She has a selection of precious stuffed toys that she tends and guards like a mother dog would her babies. She knows a lot of commands, sit, stay, lie down, heel, come, go get, stop that, go to the truck, wait, stop torturing the cat. (That last one is a toughie.) She has big brown eyes and sharp white teeth and flecks of gold so lovely I sometimes think we should have called her Golddust. She has such an endless variety of vocalizations beyond mere barking that she almost talks. She sheds at an incredible rate, ranking number two of all dogs I have owned. (So glad I got her used to being vacuumed as a puppy.) She’s easily the most beautiful dog I have ever owned. When I was in grade school I drew a picture of the most perfect looking dog imaginable. Misty looks just like that dog from her long noble muzzle with her gold speckled fur down to her elegant fluffy tail. That’s Misty Mine.

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Good dog!

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