Hank, our not-so-little puppy, was hit by a car yesterday. We aren't even sure when it happened. He often crawls under my bed to nap with Annie. It wasn't until evening that I realized that he was missing. I found him on the other side of the road. He had been dead for some time. Hannah and Joe were particularly upset over the news. I felt especially bad that he died alone. Annie was outside looking for him last night. I could hear her barking for him.
Hank came to us when he was seven weeks old. Little Anne was in need of dog company and so we embarked on a great puppy hunt. Friends of mine had a German Shepherd that had puppies. He was so timid and as all puppies are, extremely cute. When we brought him home, he wanted Anne. She wasn't too impressed with him. The kids loved Hank. Hank wasn't too sure about the kids.
Hank did not stay small or timid. He got used to us and Anne decided that he was OK. He learned quickly. It didn't take long at all to house-break him. That didn't stop the occasional accident. After all, he was still a puppy. On my birthday, he left a "present" in my closet. We think he ate something that didn't agree with him. And then last Friday he took a nice long drink out of the toilet and peed in the floor.
He was on his way to being a good dog. He dug up just about everything I planted, whether in the ground or in a pot. He ate out of the trash can. And he chased the chickens. But he did leave me a few flowers. He learned to get things out of the trash without knocking the whole can over. And he never made a serious attempt to catch the chickens, he just liked to see them scatter.
Today our house is a little quieter.