I remember the day you got off of the Homes for Hounds truck and pranced into our home. I thought you were the most beautiful dog I had ever seen.
Of course, you came with a bit of history, you had an attitude, some sleep aggression and maybe a bite under your belt. We were your third or fourth adoption stop. But when you hit the acre, you knew you were home and you just fit right in with the rest of the pack.
Of course, you were a bit of a scaredy cat. You hated, hated, hated the fourth of July. Every year we cranked up the TV, the radio and all of the industrial fans just to hide the noise.
And when something was going on over at the high school you wanted nothing to do with the back yard.
You quickly earned your claim to fame, opening up the back door by standing on your hind legs and opening it with your front paws.
You were so beautiful. Your head was shaped much like Picker’s, your uncle.
I wanted to so badly to take beautiful pictures of you, one right after another. But you were the guy with your nose to the ground.
When it came time to get a drink, it must have tasted better if you stood in the pool, even on the coldest days of winter, you wanted to stand in the pool to get your drink.
You have been a card-carrying member of the Double-Digit gang for two years now. You were far too young to leave your membership behind.
But somehow, just all of the others, we know that you have returned to the gardens. Duncan, you always had a smile on your face. You were one happy hound dog. We miss you more than you can imagine, we love you big guy.