Once a Guard Dog, Always a Guard Dog

Our mascot looks fierce. He stands out in the pasture with his jaw open and his red eyes catching the light — scrap iron, wooden boxes on tables behind him, and the mountain rising past his back. He never leaves his post, and he never retires.

The elder pups are doing exactly what elders do. One is down for a nap beside the cart, and the rest of us are crowded together inside the camper, the cat keeping her own watch from on top of the piano.

Duke is the retired one. Once a guard dog, always a guard dog, he says — but the guarding is done now, so the rest of us are free to rest too. He still delivers the whole warning now and then: lips pulled back, every tooth on show, and a wag right behind it.

Two guards on one farm, then — one made of iron that will never stand down, and one who has earned his nap. Between the two of them I think this place is well protected. Not to mention there are two dogs out on duty protecting us all.