Dogs do know

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Dogs are amazing creatures with intelligence that often makes us scratch our head.

I have been carrying a small Old Timer pen knife for many, many years. It is something everyone at one time or another needs, but usually doesn’t have. Several weeks ago I lost mine.

It was given to me about 30 years ago by someone that was special in my life.

I felt bad about the loss of my pocket companion, and pretty much backtracked everywhere I had been. It turned up nothing, and finally I hoped whoever found the little knife would enjoy and use it as much as I did.

Finally, I bought another. It was not an Old Timer, and not quite as small. I carried it for a couple of weeks, but the same connection as my lost knife was not there. It was little more than a red-headed step young’un in my pocket.

My dog, Sam, a 60-pound terrier with a 100-pound attitude, is somewhat of a godsend to me. She has been my roommate for the past four years, and we get along fairly well. However, as all females, she gets an attitude every once in a while. I overlook all that, because she is a great companion and a top-of-the-line watch dog.

I let her out every morning at daybreak if the weather permits. It gives her some breathing room, time to do her personal business, and check her perimeter for the scent of unwanted intruders.

Possums and raccoons roam freely in my wooded neighborhood, and they invite themselves to a treat from the bowl of dry food I leave outside for the cats in the neighborhood. Sam has not yet in her four years with me made any attempt at friendship with Pogo the possum or Rex the raccoon.

Last week, I let her out as usual as I got ready to leave and go out to fight the warriors of the day. I noticed as I left that Sam acted a little sheepish as I gave her the morning Milk Bone Treat as I left and locked the gate.

A few hours later when I returned she was not at the gate to greet me as usual, and I missed that little tail wagging. Instead, she was lying on the floor on the carport.

As I approached her I noticed that little tail wagging, and she was lying 2 or 3 feet from the steps leading into the house. Immediately, I thought something was wrong. It was not. Something was right.

I saw something lying on the first step. It was my beautiful little Old Timer Pocketknife.

I reached to pick it up, and as I did Sam walked up with the little tail wagging. It was a sheepish look about her again, but as she looked at me it was as if she was saying, “I did good, huh?”

I was amazed. Yes, sweetie, you did good, I thought.

I had two rib eyes in the freezer. I had one and Sam had one. She likes ’em medium, no pepper or salt or anything.

As we ate, I thought, “You are some kind of little sweetie.”

Gulping down her steak that I cut into bite-sized pieces for her, that little tail was wagging on all cylinders.

Indeed, they are amazing creatures.

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