My Australian shepherd doesn’t normally behave in such a way. She is a damn good dog, a champion in her breed, after all. The other night, well I don’t exactly know what hour it was, but it was getting late. I was already settled down in bed with a book open in my lap when she started acting out.
Began innocent enough, I suppose. She made a few yips at something that she heard outside of the house. I live off of upper Passmore Road, so prowling critters tend to be the norm. There is an awful lot of wildlife out that direction.
Well my Aussie starts pacing back and forth, and soon she was running, going from window to door, barking like mad. She was tracking something and as I climbed out of bed, gut instincts told me that this wasn’t just some raccoon.
I am telling you, by the time I pulled my boots on, that dog was spooked. Whatever it was had her really worked up, something fierce. When I couldn’t manage to calm her down, I suppose that I got spooked too. Believe me, she’s a composed animal. She doesn’t act out like that unless something is really wrong.
I stepped onto the porch with my flashlight. At first, I didn’t see or hear anything. Just the breeze through the trees, and even that began to still once I was outside the house. My Aussie stood inside the sliding glass door, desperate to pick up what remained of the scent. By the time I surveyed the scene though, whatever it was – or whoever – was already long gone.
Of course, I didn’t really call you out here to talk about anything like that. I called you to talk about Gibson. You want me to tell you what I recall about the time we spent together, isn’t that right?
Aw hell, I suppose that is a far better place to start than with my dog.
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