Killian Continued

Killian the second. (iPhone photo by BobbaLew.)

“Does Killian sleep with you?” a friend asked.
“Of course,” I answered. “In fact, I had to rearrange my bed since Killian was sleeping on the side I previously used.”
“You didn’t make Killian move?” the lady asked.
“Absolutely not!” I said.
“Committed to your dog, aren’t you. Just like I was to mine. Which means we should be committed,” she commented.
“The dog and its housekeeping staff reside here,” says a doormat into my house.
I managed to slam-dunk another Scarlett, another rescue Irish-setter, and probably what Scarlett was when we got her.
Killian hasn’t discovered his harness yet. Scarlett used to show it to me: “Let’s boogie, Boss!” Killian exhibits the pre-park frenzy. “Oh boy!” Spazzing around like a loose cannon, completely wired.
I didn’t expect another monster. Scarlett was nuts, a crazed hunter; extremely high-energy.
I was told rescue Irish are rare. All over the country I looked. North Texas Irish-Setter Rescue, Kentucky, etc.
I switched to looking for English-Setter Rescue, but I tilt toward Irish. So far I(we)’ve had six. My first Irish was late ‘70s. I took that dog for an unleashed walk in a park in Rochester (NY) and suddenly ZAMM! Squirrel number-one.
What was I supposed to do? Discourage the dog? No way José. Irish are hunters. “Hot-tee-tott; hot-tee-tott. I got it, and you do not!”
Almost 30 squirrels died in her jaws, and that included after she was hit by a car. She no longer could chase, so she’d sneak up on ‘em. She’d give us a dirty look: “Yer making too much noise!”
She died of bone-cancer at age-12, so we quickly got another. Not as much a hunter, but she ate an entire rabbit she caught.
#3 was supposed to be company for that second dog, but #2 was devastated. #3 was the Houdini-dog. She ran away during a thunderstorm, climbing our five-foot chainlink fence. We never saw her again.
#4 was our first rescue; that is, from a rescue organization. #3 could also be called a rescue. That dog’s original owner sold us that dog because she was an escape-artist.
#4 was a divorce victim, also very laid back. Not much a hunter, but she did hunt frogs.
Killian #1, dog #5, was very much a hunter. But he’d been severely abused, so even though he was small, a field-setter, he needed a loving home = us.
He was scared of men, including me. He’d start whimpering when I got exasperated by this computer — like he was afraid he’d get kicked.
But he loved taking me for a walk. Sniffity-snort!
Killian #1 died of lymphoma at age-10. My wife found Ohio Irish-Setter Rescue would bring four Irish to Buffalo for a couple from nearby Penfield to consider “Scarlett” as a therapy-dog. We were to consider one of Scarlett’s puppies.
Scarlett immediately hurled the Penfield guy to the ground. “Here, let me try her,” I interjected. “I just put down a high-energy dog.”
The Penfield couple took home Scarlett’s puppy, and we took home Scarlett. I was 64 at that time. “What in the world am I doing at my age bringing home a dog like this?”
At age-13 Scarlett began getting seizures. I had to give up. Neatest dog I ever had, and she hung with me even after my wife died.
So now what? Without a dog to motivate I’m not inclined to hike a nearby park. I’m 74, but not dead yet. I needed a dog to keep me active.
I happen to be on the Yahoo e-mail group of a lady in north Jersey heavily into Irish-setter rescue. She may have informed us about Scarlett, but my wife was the one who always arranged dogs.
Suddenly she announced my(our) second Killian, a nine-year-old male Irish in PA, another divorce victim. “Anyone interested?” her e-mail asked. BAM! I immediately fired back.
She e-mailed Killian’s owner, and told him I(we) got many rescue Irish from her. Which may be, except I never was involved.
Killian’s owner wanted to be involved. Not just hand over Killian to someone not the dog-person I happen to be.
He e-mailed and then called me. The old waazoo: 3.5+ acres fully fenced, two walks per day, the kind of life Killian no longer got with that guy still working. Killian was in-house all day = unfair to a sporting dog.
He decided to give me Killian. We’d meet in NorthEast PA at the NY/PA border. That was last Saturday.
What a shame that poor guy has to give up his beloved Killian, and I get what appears to be another Scarlett. I didn’t expect as much. I keep telling that north Jersey rescue lady I didn’t expect a slam-dunk Irish.
So now to that park again: fourth time in five days.


“Sniffity-snort!” (iPhone photo by BobbaLew.)

(Not easy to iPhone a photograph behind a lunging maniac.)