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Actually, he never left. As mentioned earlier this month, my husband found ole’ Jack by the side of the road and I agreed to temporarily shelter him until we found him a proper home.

The thing is that our home is now his home. (And, he is all the better for it. His coat has greatly improved under my husband’s meticulous care and he’s put on some weight.) And alas, I’ve given in. I swore I’d never have another dog, but, here I am, feeding and walking him and, quite happy doing so.


Jack has systematically marked our home and its four corners. Repeatedly.  It is safe to say that all neighboring dogs have been duly warned.

So, this weekend, after deciding to embrace the newest member of our clan – one who by the way, does not have a single athletic impulse whatsoever and whose run resembles more of a bunny hop – all of my husband’s careful tending was for naught when Jack managed to bite the revved up engine on our go cart. He burned his tongue and in true Jack fashion, appeared completely oblivious of the injury.  Jack’s final athletic feat of the day was an inelegant summersault on his way out of our wagon (Jack was being towed due to fatigue from his exertions.) He tumbled head first, landed on his back and scraped his face.

Herewith are images of our Jack prior to his weekend wreck. With each passing day I am further convinced that B and Jack, unquestionably, share DNA.



December 1, 2009