“Thump-thump-thump-thump!”

Neatest dog we ever had. (Photo by the so-called “old guy” with the dreaded and utterly reprehensible Nikon D100.)

All our dogs were pretty neat, and Scarlett, number six, is almost as neat as Killian, number five.
Killian was a rescue dog, a reject from two prior homes.
We think home number one was okay, but that ended for some reason — perhaps divorce.
Number two was a misfit and abusive.
Killian was a high-energy hunter, a smaller Field Setter, not the bigger show dog.
Home number two had small children, and he knocked over a baby-carraige with the baby in it.
You could see he had been kicked around.
They’d also slam him into a crate.
He was five years old when we got him.
Brought up from Harrisburg or even farther south.
We got him at a Mickey D’s in Williamsport.
“You can turn him down if ya want.”
Probably because he was small.
“Oh no ya don’t,” I said.
“This dog needs a break. He needs a home.”
Killian was a crazed hunter. He broke loose on our first visit to Boughton Park.
I thought he was lost forever.
As I walked dejectedly toward our car, here comes Killian, trotting up behind me, merrily dragging his leash.
“Hey, where ya been? I was having a good time!”
He’d probably been taken hunting with horses.
He was from Tennessee, and always barked excitedly at horses.
“Hey, let’s go!”

“Come down outta that tree and fight!” (Photo by the so-called “old guy” with the dreaded and utterly reprehensible Nikon D100.)

The one thing I learned from Killian was that it makes sense to fuss over your dog.
It got so I was walking Killian up to Michael Prouty Park every afternoon.
All I had to do was grab the leash, and “thump-thump-thump-thump!” Killian was wagging his tail.
At four o’clock he began getting antsy, and would butt into anything I was doing. “It’s walk-time, Boss. Let’s get going!”
We could not get Killian to sleep with us in our bedroom — he probably had been kicked out in previous homes.
But Killian was more than “thump-thump-thump-thump.” All our other dogs have abhorred grooming. But not Killian.
Linda would get the brush out, and down Killian would go. Probably the only attention he ever got in prior homes — he loved it.
Plus he’d roll over to the other side. Musta been trained to do that.
Sadly, Killian got Lymphomic Cancer, and had to be put down at only 10 or so.
We never knew his exact birthdate.
We only had him five years; always feel too bad we didn’t have him from puppyhood.
He might have had an easier life.
Killian was a special case — trying to make up for earlier abuse.
“Thump-thump-thump-thump!” We seem to have succeeded.

RE: “‘Old guy’ with the dreaded and utterly reprehensible Nikon D100.......” —My macho, blowhard brother-from-Boston, who is 13 years younger than me, calls me “the old guy” as a put-down (I also am the oldest). I also am loudly excoriated by all my siblings for preferring a professional camera (like the Nikon D100) instead of a point-and-shoot. This is because I long ago sold photos to nationally published magazines.

“Scarlett” is our current dog; a rescue Irish-Setter. She’s almost four, and is our sixth Irish-Setter.

“Mickey D” is McDonald (the fast-food outlet).

Nearby “Boughton Park” (“BOW-tin” as in “ow”), is where I run and we walk our dog.

“Michael Prouty Park” is a town park near where we live. The land for it was donated by the Prouty family in honor of their deceased son (“Michael”) who used to play in that area. —It is mostly athletic fields, but has an open picnic pavilion. It’s maintained by the town. I walk our dog to and around it.

“Linda” is my wife of 41+ years.