Have I mentioned our doggie, Montana? Actually, her name is Montana Rose, the cattle dog. We adopted her on the way through Monument Valley when we were on a road trip a few years ago. (We travelled a lot that year.) While we really didn't have the excess money, I figured it was either now or never. So we spent 5 weeks travelling on a world cruise, and 3 weeks on a cross country road trip to visit friends and our son in California. This year of travel has been repeated in Jerry’s memory time and time again. Anyway, back to Montana. She was named Montana, because we had just spent a week on a cowboy outpost above Yellowstone, then we drove down through Jackson Hole, turned left and headed to Monument Valley. While we were there, we met a precious couple who had fallen on hard times and had given away all their pets. Montana was their last one. There we were, at the only gas station within 100 miles in either direction, cooing over this little 8 week old black puppy. Their kids were crying, "no, mommie, no." I told them about Jerry, and how I had been toying with the idea of a companion dog for him. Then, Jerry said, "I can hold her in my lap”. The deal was done. Montana's parents were search and rescue dogs in Colorado. It was a match made in Heaven. That dog sat in Jerry's lap from Monument Valley all the way to Los Angeles.
Montana, has such a uncanny sense of our needs. She is the most obedient dog we've ever had. Even though Jerry's words are few, he has captured "the dog" on the edge of his lips. Believe me, it's "the dog" before me. "Where's "the dog"?" "the dog" ...."the dog"..."the dog". Their bond is so tight that all Jerry has to do is point. In fact, this morning, Jerry spilled jelly on the floor. Montana was in her watchful but resting position on the rug about 6 feet away and it wasn't until we were through and Jerry pointed to the blob of jelly that she came to "clean up the floor". WHAT A DOG!
Here's what's cool. One thing I try to have Jerry do is walk "the dog". It takes about 15 minutes for him gather himself up; find his jacket which is on the seat next to him, zip it up, find the leash which is folded up, on the table. Ears straight up, Montana sits and waits patiently for him to hook her up. (sometimes he needs help with all these things.) What's funny is that quite often he goes out the door WITHOUT THE DOG. It's not until he gets back that I realize that the dog never left. She’s still with ME. Ah...such is life! Just all the more reason for him to try it again...this time WITH "the dog”.