
Dennis of
Psychology, Dogs, Politics and Wine says in the comments:
and think about this: we are getting theology AND music recommendations from you now. Add some pictures of dogs and you'll give MadPriest a good run for his money!OK, Dennis. Here's my dog. Not her best picture, but the one that I could find easily. She was not named after the tragic Princess Diana, but after Diana, the goddess of the hunt. You see, she was to be a hunting dog for my husband and sons. What can I say? That dog don't hunt. Period. When the men in my family take her into the woods and let her loose, she runs back to the truck and is ready to go home.
Our previous dog, Rusty, The Wonder Dog, was a natural hunting dog. He retrieved not only the kill of my husband and sons, but anyone else's that he could find. He's buried in our back yard, having died of lymphoma at the age of nine. He was so good that my men would like to clone him from his remains.
When Rusty began hanging around, and before we decided whether we were going to adopt him, he ran loose each night and returned to us in the morning dirty and exhausted. He's the only dog I ever knew of to have venereal disease. We put an end to his night roaming quickly, after we decided to make him one of the family. He lived peacefully with a goodly number of cats which were part of our
ménage at the time.
But I digress. Back to Diana, the dog that don't hunt. She was a stray that was found with an arrow in her leg and turned in to the humane society. Fortunately, the arrow was lodged in the fleshy portion of her leg and did not pierce the bone. Our local paper put a large colored picture of her on the front page. Rusty had passed on about six months previously, and Diana stared at me from the picture. My husband and I talked about adopting her, and he finally agreed.
Diana is a good dog. She's about 10 years old and has never growled or snapped at a human, not even my grandchildren when they were toddlers and annoyed her. But she hates cats with a passion. We had one cat left when she came to us, and each time Boy went into the yard, he was chased up a tree by Diana, and we'd have to restrain her and rescue him. Boy died of kidney failure not long after Diana entered his life. Stress is my diagnosis of his final illness, stress that led to kidney failure.
Diana has glaucoma in one eye, and her medication costs the earth. She has cataracts, too, and is nearly blind in the bad eye. She doesn't listen either, but that's our fault, because we didn't train her.
So, there are my dog stories. If you don't approve of hunting, remember that I do not hunt, and if you are not a vegetarian, in my humble opinion, you have no moral ground on which to stand to speak against responsible hunting.
So, Dennis, am I giving the MadPriest a good run?