Little Homer died this afternoon. I always called her Homerette. You see when she showed up one day at the Wood's house next door, Branden got to keep her. They thought she was a boy puppy. Oops, boy puppies do not have babies, thus Homerette.
Brandon had wanted a puppy for so long, but with the dairy cows it just wasn't a good idea. Well, Grandpa Brad had sold the cows just a short time before Homerette showed up. No excuses for not keeping her. I am so glad she came. She has been a very choice puppy to have on the farm. Fun and playful, so good with the little ones, and grandpa's hunting buddy. She could sniff out a mouse or squirrel so good and then grandpa would help her get to them by moving a log or a pipe or whatever was necessary. When the critter ran out Homerette was on it and rarely let one get away. Many a time Teresa found a gift of a mouse or squirrel on her back porch.
Tonight Homerette is at rest in one of the flower gardens she loved to dig in. Paul built her a nice wooden box and he and grandpa dug a nice spot for here. We were blessed that someone was silly enough to drop off this stray little black puppy. She has been a friend for twelve and a half years.
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