So this is a picture of Foxy, my grandmother's dog. Foxy and I have quite a bit of history together. Years ago when I was living in Jackson, I was driving home late one night when I saw this dog running- panicked- on Fortification street up and down the on-ramp onto the highway. Certain death if she kept going.
Well, I felt moved to help the animal, so long story short- I caught her. It took a while, because where she was running and HOW she was running required me to make several big loops onto the highway and back off at the next exit, turning around and driving back to the on-ramp. Finally I got her off the ramp and up into a parking lot, where she fell at my feet and rolled over on her back. Thinking to myself “This is how people get emergency room stories” I picked her up and put her in my car. No one was mauled, and she became my dog for a while.
At the time I was working increasingly long hours, so I felt that I wasn't giving her enough time. Eventually, I was hardly ever home to spend any time with her, nor was my sister. When my grandmother's dog, Sandy*, died, I offered her Foxy, and thus she became my Mamaw's dog. And now she is lazy and fat (Foxy, not Mamaw). She eats lying down. She's almost as wide as she is long. But she seems happy, and she always seems happy to see me. I don't know how dog brains work, but it seems that she certainly recognizes me when I show up. She's a big fat sweet dog.
* Sandy was part Chow / part DINGO. Scary-ass dog.
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