Dog food and glowing collars you say? Umm hmm. Meet Mo. The ranch dog.
He started life out just like any puppy in a home with a bunch of kids.... being smothered with attention. Till it came time to pick up his *stuff*. Then he always belongs to Brawn. It was in our vows, I don't do dog doo and apparently neither do most of our kids. One year we gave #3 child a pooper scooper for his birthday. Aren't we considerate parents? He didn't think so. With that many kids running through the yard, a *stuff* free zone is very important. Especially when the *stuff* was larger from our old dog. Capone moved on when Mo was about 2 years old.
This is our youngest, #6, with the oldie but goodie.
Brawn built Mo a dog house.
We had to trick Mo to get him in it.
His home has since been turned into a duck house when the crapping quackers were babies.
But Mo isn't really my dog. He is suppose to belong to #4. Right about the time his predescesor moved on, Mo got really sick. Really sick. Kidney failure. The vet sent him back home with us basically to die but with instructions how to nurse him back to health in the rare case he could make it.
During that month he got very comfortable as a house dog. I was on a mission to nurse him back to health but we knew he couldn't go on forever eating through a tube in his nose. Then one evening he started to sniff the air as we grilled steaks. That night he ate one tiny bite, and it gave us hope that his appetite might turn around. It did.
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