Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Maybe six months ago, our neighbors got a dog, some kind of little collie/mutt.

Last weekend, while laboring in the Port Swiller vineyards, Ol’ Robbo noticed the family lining up in procession in their backyard and solemnly, sadly, walking toward the woods behind our houses, headed by Dad carrying a suspiciously pet-sized bundle in his arms.

I speculated to Mrs. Robbo at the time that it looked like something might have happened to the dog.  Well, it turns out I was right.

Our neighbor’s yard is not fenced in, and I had noticed in the past that they sometimes let the dog out on its own to take care of biznay.**  Apparently, they had done so for his late evening call of duty the night before I saw them.  He flushed something out of the bushes and then chased it out into the street where he got hit by a car.  (We live on a busy road.)

I found all this out today because they’re now planning to fence in their back and wanted to know if they could anchor their fence to ours and save themselves having to put in a redundant fourth side.  (Of course we said yes.  I think this actually violates a county ordinance but I don’t care.)

The worst part of it all is that they have three small children who were evidently quite fond of the pooch.  Of course death is an unavoidable aspect of pet ownership, and in fact can be a useful thing to help youngsters to grasp the concept and learn how to deal with loss.  But like this?  Sheesh.

St. Francis, ora pro nobis.

 

** This always bugged me a bit, but we don’t know them well enough for me to have shoved my oar in.