An Old Friend . . .

While on the subject of dogs, some of whom in the natural course of things pass from being living, loving companions to being inhabitants of whatever green fields there may be in canine heaven, where tennis balls, rabbits, and dog biscuits abound; and I don't mean to start sounding like a sappy, soppy, sentimental old fool, I just came across these two portraits I did of a dog we had about 25 years ago. His name was Buddy, and Buddy unfortunately caught something akin to the canine version of mad cow disease, slowly descending into a case of canine dementia, which is no more amusing in the four legged version than in the two legged version. But I loved him alot, and just wanted to remember him here. If I could have had him buried in the Paris Dog Cemetery, I would have, with a globe full of tennis balls and biscuits, and his favorite bone on his tomb. Makes me think of the lines in that beautiful Jerry Jeff Walker song, Mr Bojangles :
.
"He dance for those at minstrel shows and county fairs, throughout the South
He spoke with tears of fifteen years how his dog and him, they travelled about
But his dog up and died, he up and died, after twenty years he still grieves"
.

































.








.

.
.