Ace
collie/husky mix, age 5
Growing up in a family of dog lovers, I had no choice but to carry this title as I grew up. Please, don’t get me wrong: I love dogs. Our family has two on our ranch; one is a German shepherd mix and the other is of unknown breed, but he looks remarkably like a coyote. Blackjack (the shepherd mix) is my mom’s and, of course, spoiled rotten. Ace, however (if you haven’t already guessed, he’s our other dog), would rather run off chasing a deer and come home smelling completely foul than be pampered. If you have a dog, you probably know what I mean by “foul.” A dog has some strange instinct to find the worst-smelling carcass within a two-mile radius, roll in it, trot home, and expect to be loved all the more for doing so. More often than not, I’m afraid, Ace is greeted by gagging and is immediately escorted back outside.
What I have found to be the strangest thing about Ace is his choice of toys. Most people think of a tennis ball or a rubber squeaky vegetable as a dog toy. Not me. Oh, for Blackjack, sure, but Ace? Nah, he would much rather play tug-o’-war with a ripped-up shirt. You may think this sounds strange, but believe me, I know. I have spent many hours of my life running through pastures with Ace. I’ll usually be desperately holding on to my end of what once was my favorite shirt or pair of shorts. When I finally collapse with exhaustion (it’s always me; try as I might, I can never tire my companion), he is barely panting, and in his mouth is a now-unidentifiable rag.
Ace
collie/husky mix, age 5
