Miss Dusty from Durango was a half Corgi/half Dachshund pound puppy.  When I first saw her, I thought she was one of the ugliest dogs I'd ever seen. It didn't take more than five minutes to discover she had such a sweet soul and disposition and was smart as a whip.  She jumped up on the couch and sat straight up on her nubby little excuse for a tail, nudging me with her nose for some affection or a treat.  I promptly dubbed her my "granddogger," and a lot of people have picked that word up since - though I doubt it'll ever wind up in Webster's.  

Dusty's favorite treat was a small McDonald's hamburger, which I was always willing to buy her when I was in town. I've often wondered what I did to her health and felt guilty.  She was an amazing little girl, and ferociously protective of her mom.  She once chased a Rottweiler about 100 yards, so it wouldn't come near her mom.  Daughter and her hubby were going to college in Durango at the time. The college was on top of a mountain, and it was customary to give students walking up the road a lift.  They had four other people in the car when Dusty decided to quietly pass gas.  Soon, even though it was the dead of winter, everyone was choking, rolling down windows and looking for someone to blame.  Dusty sat there innocently, looking at hubby, who, of course, got the blame.


Dusty loved to go winter camping, no matter how deep the snow.  Once they were camped by an icy stream in a national park.  Daughter was trout fishing, and when she quit, Dusty thought mom was going off and leaving her. She jumped into the icy stream and was swept away. Daughter ran down the bank, encouraging her to swim.  At last she was able to jump ashore.  Even after being dried off and warmed thoroughly, she never fully recovered.  It was soon discovered she had Addison's Disease, probably from the muscles she pulled in her effort to swim ashore.  She was on medication the rest of her days.

While Dusty was always loyal to her mom, I can't say she was always loyal to me.  One fine spring day we were fishing at a lake above Durango, and everyone was doing what they did best.  Daughter was fly fishing for trout, Dusty was sniffing out real or imagined rabbits along the shoreline, and I was sitting on my little folding camp stool reading a good book.  I happened to look down at the water's edge and saw what looked to me like a bear paw print. I nudged my daughter and said, "Is that what I think it is?"  Apparently it was, because daughter with all her fishing gear and Dusty were sitting in the car at the top of the hill with windows rolled up before I could even fold up my camp stool and begin the uphill trudge.  Fortunately, the bear never showed up!

Despite her ailments, Dusty lived for 17 years. There are perhaps a hundred more stories I could tell about the amazing Dusty, but that's enough for one day.  Tomorrow, a few words about my favorite feline person, a Maine Coon named Charley.