My old shepherd gave up her fight for life yesterday. As nearly as we can reckon, she was over 20 years old. I guess she was well contented with her life with us to have held onto it for so long.
She was a pound puppy with spots on her back that made her look like an Australian shepherd, hence the name. We found out later that the spots were because they had shaved out some spatters where some idiot had thrown tar at her. When we found her, it was her last day and they had already dropped the rope used to lead her off to be executed by the cage door. One look into her eyes (you can read everything you need to know about dogs from their eyes) and I knew she'd be a good friend. We had a big argument with the attendant that ended when I grabbed the rope, threw it down by his desk and asked if he understood exactly what I meant when I did that. Then, I went into the cage and held the dog while the OL grabbed the paperwork off the cage door and went to the front office to arrange the adoption.
Well, my first impression was right, a person couldn't have hoped for a better dog than Sheila.
