Our westie has a unique character about him. He is the only dog (breed) that I know of who is little in stature, but can stand so tall and proud and a big bark to go with it. Maybe it is because he loves the garden so much. I know the butterflies, birds and toads keep him entertained. During the summer evenings most all barking is when he has found a toad and is an inch away from it barking and when it fails to hop he puts his paw on it and it jumps. I save the toad from trauma and save our dog from the toad. The toad has his place in my garden just as Sir Salty has his place of keeping the bad boys out. Deer, ground hogs, and rabbits...stray balls, flying saucers.
Sir Salty's first encounters with ripe red tomatoes piqued his interest. He would carry off some of the ones that had fallen to the ground... a little questions here. (Why do people sometimes lose interest in tomatoes when they have arrived by the van full? We wait all spring for the first tomatoes that the month of July brings. We gather each one as if they were jewels and run into the house with them savoring the juicy morsels. We promise to never buy another tomato at a grocery store because our own are the best. The very best we conclude. A few weeks of this ritual and then a few months and the beat has amazingly slowed down. "Tomatoes?" someone asks. The word has a familiar ring to it, but you can't quite place it. The good thing is ... The cold of January brings to life a new yearning of tomato giddiness.) So if we have tomatoes growing in the lawn next spring we'll know why. To this day he loves spaghetti sauce.
