@ossobucotemp,
Sigh. I've had several favorite dogs. A couple of early ones when I was little - my parents irish setter, Little, who I remember running across a field in Ohio when I was about four, and Little died before we moved back to California months later. And then my aunt's irish setter in CA, Rusty. I remember playing with him in the house, thinking he was wonderful - but he was also a short time acquaintance.
Decades went by, lots going on, but no dogs happened for me until I was in my early thirties and my then gallery partner's boyfriend found a venice shepherd (mix) puppy on the railroad tracks behind the buildings in that block and brought the puppy upstairs, and he was immediately mine; I named him SandPaw, have showed pics here. SandPaw was a wanderer, as we should have guessed re his railroad excursion. It was hard to keep him in the yard behind as the fencing there was flimsy and he was clever. We had enough trouble paying the lease without fencing the landlord's almost block long property.
Finding SandPaw after he ran away was interesting. Of course he had tags, so I got phone calls. Thus I went to my first gay party to pick him up, about a dozen blocks away. Nice people, and I was so relieved to see SandPaw.
I remember driving looking for him in my crummy but fun Fiat convertible that had a transmission leak. A sort of then famous druggy iffy gang neighborhood, or so I had thought, except people were nice and tried to help me, dashing my biases at the same time. If I remember right, that was also the time I got a call from the fire station once I got back to our place, and I sped over to where they were enjoying SandPaw. Might not have been the same day. Part of why I like firemen. And by now, firewomen.
When we had the gallery, I was also working full time, so dog searching opportunities might have been a problem, but I don't remember that they were.
One of those times when he was gone for more than two days, and I was wallowing in dolor, my gallery partner arranged for us to buy a young irish setter, who we named Rojo. We took Rojo home. Next day, SandPaw showed up at the downstairs door. G. partner found Rojo a home with a friend in Malibu.
One time SandPaw never came back. I had met my future husband at the gallery, and in time the gallery closed and we split a rental house, in transition, with the earlier gallery partner and her boyfriend, this about three blocks from the Pacific Ocean. Somehow SandPaw got into the front yard and, of course, sailed over the fence. With tags.
I've long hoped that he was at the beach and some good person fell in love with him, handsome doggie. I checked all the Los Angeles area shelters for several weeks, nada.
Next loved dog was Kelly; another post, another day.
