We got this hairy dog from the Birmingham Humane Society.
I can't understand why anyone would give her up.
Last night our friends Trent and Paul came over to practice with Fear an Cheoil for the North Alabama Scottish Festival and Highland Games, which takes place in Scottsboro, Alabama, the first weekend of October. Daisy waded into the circle of guitars, mandolins, accordions and bagpipes, tail wagging. I think she would have laid right there for the entire time they were playing if I hadn’t dragged her away. She wouldn't stay in my office with me but laid at the top of the stairs so she could at least hear the music, even if she could not see the musicians. This is a new behavior for her. She usually just ignores them. Doggie dementia, I guess. She is eleven.
Starting to show her age.
She was content there until Trent started playing his Highland Bagpipes. At the very first squawk, she ran back down the hall and cowered behind my chair while I was sitting at my desk. Her eyes pleaded with me to make him stop. We compromised. I let her out into the backyard while he was playing. Funny, that dog has not willingly gone into the backyard unless there was food involved since the beginning of June.
Daisy, chillaxin' in the kitchen.
Since May she has been a constant fixture on the kitchen floor, kind of a large, furry rug taking up about half the room. She wants to be ready, just in case anything edible gets dropped. We don't allow her in the dining room while we are eating but as soon as she hears the chairs scoot back she is doggie on the spot. Rattle a little plastic or paper, Daisy is instantly under your feet, looking up in anticipation.
My furry kitchen rug.
I guess I can't really blame her. She is used to having the run of the backyard, chasing squirrels, chomping on chipmunks and eating baby birds that fall out of the nest. Oh yeah, I know it's gross, but that's what dogs do. Last May she was diagnosed with degenerative liver disease, as well as significant arthritis in her back. We were devastated at first, but the vet put her on a detoxifying supplement called Denamarin, a special low protein diet and subcutaneous fluids three times a week. Right now, she's holding her own, having more good days than bad. I don't mind at all that I have to step over her to get to the fridge. I'm just glad she's still here to step over.