Big Dogs

I’ve only had big dogs. St. Bernard’s as a kid and Rottweilers as an adult. Molly was a female splash Saint. Argo was a female mantle Saint. My brother, Bill, had a Blue Tick Heeler named JohnDog for a few months. Chase, male Rotty, was my first baby boy. Obedience, agility, carting, sledding, weight pulling. Tyler, female Rotty, was from a litter sired by Chase. I raised her for about a year and found her a good home. Shortly after Chase died at nine, I started fresh with a male puppy Rotty named August. Due to life, he needed to be rehomed at about two years old.
 
On a trip to Iowa to visit Sharon: a tall metal slide at the park. I had trained Chase to climb the vertical ladder and run down the slide. I have a photo of him at the top, he waiting for my command to come down.
 
So starting at the dream side of the equation. You know, just the fun fantasy place to venture. Flushing out. Mind to wander. Say it in my mind; say it out loud if I get the chance.

What I know…

• I don’t want to adopt Mister, Philip’s abandoned Pitbull in Blue Mounds.
• Short hair.
• Breeder, not adopted.
• A chunky dog, sturdy built, huggable. Fast. Trainable.
• Black and tan, a bonus, but not a requirement.
• Train for agility again.
• Might be fun to build my own agility equipment again.
• Bernese Mountain Dogs are cool. Oh, wait, those are big.
• No breed with smushed nose and face.
• [DONE] A vehicle to ride together