“Granny Aching had been an expert on sheep, even though she called them ‘just bags of bones, eyeballs and teeth look’in for new ways to die.’ ”
–Terry Pratchett, The Wee Free Men

The New Spinners: Yarn Is the Least of It
By ELIZABETH OLSON
Published: January 19, 2006

http://www.nytimes.com/2006/01/19/fashion/thursdaystyles/19spinning.html

Going through my computer today I found this picture. It made me cry. I miss him so much.

We have a zoo living here, but none of them compare to this old guy. He died in Dec. 2003 at the ripe old age of 11. His name was Caleb. He was a brindle Great Dane. We bought him in Georgia when my husband was still in the Army and my youngest son was only 6 months old. Jim was in the Infantry back then and spent at least half the year deployed, so I was home alone a lot and liked having a big dog.

We moved to Germany that same year and Caleb came too. He flew all over the world with me. To and from Europe, car trips to Chicago, Georgia, Kentucky. He lived with us in a 5th floor apartment, every house we ever owned (five), and my parent’s house. He liked to steal candy off the Christmas gingerbread houses we made and one year ate the whole thing when we were out shopping (the green dum dum sucker stuck to the side of his face gave him away…even though he tried desperately to blame the cat). He could wag his tail so hard that he’d bust holes in the drywall so I put up wainscotting in all our houses. He learned how to open doors with levered handles by laying his chin on them. He hated going outside…if it was raining he could hold his bladder for 12 hours, refusing to go out and get wet. When he did go out, he knew he had to get his feet wiped off when he came inside so he’d stand in the door and hold up each foot one at a time. He wouldn’t let another human being within 100ft of me when Jim wasn’t home. He loved cats. He only liked women vets. He got baths standing in the driveway with the garden hose…and liked them. He could hear the word “cookie” from 500 yards away. He never begged at the table or counter surfed for food (even though he was tall enough to take anything he wanted). He did occasionally steal peanut butter sandwiches off the plates of little boys who were too interested in the TV to eat their lunch. He was allergic to pork. He loved mashed potatoes. He could eat roasted marshmellows right off the stick and would sit by the campfire waiting for someone to make them for him. He loved going to Grandma’s (my mother’s) house because she fed him off the table. We had to measure every SUV we ever bought to make sure he’d fit in the back. When he got too old to jump up into the truck we built him a ramp so he could still go for rides. His heart finally gave out, but he hung on and waited until the day after my oldest son’s birthday to die…it was snowing. We buried him under a tree next to the woods near the house. Until that day my 12 year old son had never known life without him. It’s been two years. I still miss him every day.