Wednesday, May 22, 2013


He is fast asleep with his head on my foot, as I sit at my computer.  He waits patiently and senses any movement I might make.  I can feel his breath and the warmth it brings.  With it comes peace, perfections and comfort. It is all that is needed to make me aware of this moment, this one moment.  I feel drowsy and want to go snuggle him or take a walk.

The medical bills he has accrued and the hours he as absorbed out of my life are monumental.  But the face is one I can't resist.  The crazy spirit, the unbelievable intelligence, and eager attitude awakens something missing inside of me.  I take life seriously, perhaps too seriously.  But then what I do demands nothing less of me.  So when my rescue dog Remy came into my home, he brought baggage, but also he brought joy. Perhaps that is why I am intrigued by this breed (PBGV) and their kookie spirit and joie d vie!  

Remy is a Petite Basset Griffon Vendeen or PBGV. A 45 pound French hound dog, bred to hunt rabbits in the Vendeen region of France. He also hunts squirrels, as they taunt and terrorize each other in the back yard.  He hunts anything and everything that might be edible, from sponges to my router box.  He is a dog that demands I keep one step ahead of him.  He learned rapidly how to open the pantry doors and pull out a 50 pound tub of dog food, loosen the latches and enjoy, and run out the garage into 4 lanes of traffic...frightening me to death...only to turn around come back to me!  He has a voice that would scare off any bad guys and perhaps even some good guys from my house.  Remy has a personality unequaled. 
He was born and bred in Texas.  Bought for a pretty penny by a family in Illinois who had him for four years.  They perhaps did not find him as endearing as I, because they called the breeder and wanted to return him after four years.  Why goodness knows but suffice it to say 'dogs are a commitment and deserve to be treated as such.' It seems he was locked in a crate for four years and let out only when it suited the owners. 

Perhaps he needed me as much as I needed him.  I too often feel locked in a crate unable to escape. 

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