Some can never be rehabilitated

Our darling Buddy dog, at one time in his life, was a monster. Chewed everything mine, including an expensive signed by the photographer art book. I would refer to his as the "bastard with fur " and his breed being a "wire-haired terrorist." His only interest, not that he has a lot now, was finding a way to get into the trash. We'd had baby-locks on the cupboard with the can until we remodeled and have a wonderful slide out drawer; fooled him.

After my beloved retired seven years about Buddy became a model citizen. Imagine that, he was just lonely. He loves going camping and doesn't bolt out the door when it's opened. He is quite enjoyable even though he's not a cuddly dog. I do miss my Sheba, she was the best snuggler in dogdom. Buddy will sleep on the bed but faces the door waiting for some bungler to attack, he's ever vigilant.

Just to keep up the aforementioned title, ever so often, Buddy will pull something sneaky. Last week he must have felt no one was paying enough attention. My Aunt and I were heading for the Getty Villa and, out the door, I remembered my camera and returned to the house. There he was standing in the middle of the dining table his muzzle deep into the remnants of a cup of coffee I had carelessly left. He was so busy slurping up the coffee he didn't notice me and I was too shocked to say anything. Too bad I had not gotten my camera yet as that would have been a fantastic snap. He finally did look up and just turned, jumped to a chair, then the floor, and out the doggy door like nothing happened. Thanks, Buddy, I thought you'd lost all your spirit.