The Killian-2 Adventure Begins

Killian #2. (iPhone photo by BobbaLew.)

Yrs Trly is now harboring Irish-Setter #7, Rescue Irish #5, dog #8, and my first dog since my wife died.
My wife and I had a Killian #1, a smallish field-setter (60 pounds), another rescue, except he was severely abused.

Killian #1 instructs birds to come outta that tree. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

He lasted only 10 years, dying of lymphoma. At least he ended his days in a loving home. He’d been through two previous homes, both of which didn’t understand Irish-Setters.
He feared men, including me. But he loved walking with me. He’d start whimpering when I got upset with this computer. Probably afraid some man was gonna kick him. (I wouldn’t dare!)

My (our) second Killian. (iPhone photo by BobbaLew.)

Killian-2 is a divorce victim. Our Irish #3 was also a divorce victim. Killian’s owner was depressed he had to leave Killian at home all day while he worked. Setters, especially Irish-Setters, are sporting dogs. What fun is it being cooped up in a house all day?
So Killian’s owner contacted ****** ******** of north Jersey, heavily involved in Irish-Setter rescue. He asked if I always dealt with ******. Perhaps, but I had no idea, since it was always my wife who arranged our dogs.
I’m on ******’s Yahoo e-mail group, so I always get notified. “There’s another, and I can’t do anything.” (I still had my previous Irish then.)
She posted Killian — “interested,” I immediately slammed on my iPhone.
I put down my previous Irish after Thanksgiving, my beloved Scarlett, Irish #6, Irish-rescue #4, a fabulous dog. She made 13.
I felt I was aging quickly. Without a dog I had no incentive to walk a nearby park. Killian’s owner e-mailed me, and a torrent of texts began (thank you Apple). He also called me.
It’s depressing he has to let go of a dog he had nine years, but 3.5+ acres fully fenced, partly wooded; best $16,000 we ever spent. Keeps a dog out of the highway. Loud Harleys at 80 mph, crotch-rockets at 100+. Hemis and Big-Block Chevelles at full roar gulping giant gouts of air. (Speed-limit is 40.)
Plus at least one long walk per day, often two. One is at that nearby park, also partly wooded. Hiking that park again is also a challenge for me, 74 years old with questionable balance — 3-4 miles per walk.
But the dog loves it. Running hither-and-yon like a loose cannon, nose to the ground, SNIFFITY-SNORT!
Killian-2 was in PA north of Pittsburgh. I would GPS to NorthEast, PA, just west of the NY border, to Lake Shore Railway Historical Society and Museum. I figgered it would have parking, and I’m a railfan.
The vaunted GPS lady seemed a mite confused. “Head north” quickly followed by “head south” when I headed north. I killed that GPS lady!
GoogleMaps had NorthEast 2&1/2 hours from my house. DREAMIN’! I should have allowed 3&1/2 hours, at least three.
In NorthEast “In 1,000 feet turn left on South Pearl St.” I’m fast approaching a traffic-light that might be 1,000 feet away. I’m supposed to get out and measure?
Quick decision time: I turned left at the light, no street signs. I quickly discovered it was South Lake St., not Pearl. CSX, on the old New York Central, runs through NorthEast, and crosses Lake St., also State Highway 89, on an overpass.
Don’t go under the overpass = zag right, then quick left on Pearl St. “I see a retired railroad locomotive; that must be the museum.” And there’s Killian walking his previous master.
We exchanged pleasantries, and I greeted Killian. I got throughly sniffed. I opened the side-door of my SUV and pulled up the seat-cushion; first time in months. Killian jumped in.
Dog-food, papers for my vet; then so be it. Previous master leaves his beloved Killian, and I make out like a bandit. I end up with a fabulous dog.
Most vocal dog I ever had: “Hey, what are you doin’ gettin’ that mail? GET BACK HERE — WOOF-WOOF-WOOF!” I took Killian to my groomer. “Is that my dog doing all that barking back there?” I asked the groomer-lady when I returned to pick up Killian.
“Yes,” she nodded.
“How does that silly dog know I’m here to pick him up? He’s in the other room behind closed doors.”
A collar is near-impossible; only the Easy-Walk© harness, which attaches in front of his chest. He hasn’t thrown me down yet. LUNGE-YANK! I texted my aquacise-coach: “I don’t think I coulda handled this monster without what we been doing in that pool.” (Swimming-pool balance-training.)
BOINK-BOINK-BOINK! “I wanna go out! I wanna come in!” “Never before have I had a dog bounce at the door.” I took Killian to my nearby doggy-day-care to socialize. He wanted out: Enough already!
Same thing at my back door.

(iPhone photo by BobbaLew.)

Right now Killian is asleep on my Castro-Convertible; I took him to that park this morning, second foray. He’s utterly bushed, but had a wonderful time: “Who’s that, who’s this? SNIFF-SNORT! SNOFFLE!”
All I hafta do is give the signal. “Let’s boogie!” Like a light-switch. Perhaps more than my crazy Scarlett. May very well be the most Irish-Setter I’ve had.