Here is Truffle, with the “WTF? I thought this was MY rawhide bone!” expression. The fluff ball in front of her is Mal-du-Mer (she got carsick a lot as a puppy), known as Molly, Molly Woof, Molly McButter. Yep. These are my first two dogs.

Here Truffle is making the face that always reminded me of this portrait of our first president.

Imacon Color ScannerGeorge

Truffle had a few names, too, George was one of them. She was sometimes Truffleupagus or Lup a short form. It is very strange to realize that this photo was taken about 30 years ago in my back yard in San Diego.


Truffle and Molly, 1998

Here they are in the bed of my Ford Ranger about 10 years later. The topper and carpet kit had finally fallen apart and they were relegated to being harnessed and tied in the back, but they didn’t mind. It was all about going. They’d jumped up in the truck bed even though we weren’t going anywhere. You can see beach sand on the bottom of the truck bed. You might think taking two such hairy dogs to the beach is asking for trouble, but I had a system. I usually took them to Dog Beach at the north end of Ocean Beach in San Diego.


Dog Beach

I parked in front of the do it yourself dog wash and we walked the two blocks to the beach. When we were done playing, we walked back and I bathed them. Still, beach sand is ubiquitous.

Truffle was a great dog. Her mother, Shadow, a purebred black lab, was a friend of mine. She lived down the street, usually tied to a tree. But often she’d break loose, come to my house, sit on the sidewalk and bark ONCE. Woof!

I went out, took her for a walk in the canyon, threw the ball for her and petted her. Then she went home. When she had her litter of puppies (at least three different fathers, I think) she brought them up to meet me. I kept Truffle, the only brown and white dog in the bunch. Animal control ended up taking all the rest — including the mom. I wish I’d known then what I know now about dogs. I’d have kept Shadow, but I didn’t know that two or more dogs is easier than just one.

Truffle and I went to obedience classes and faithfully did our practice. She learned. She was just a basic, friendly, smart-enough dog. She lived a long, happy life of hiking, fishing (fishing is standing in water watching water-skippers and wagging your tail) and chasing quail out from under bushes. ❤ She trained Molly who remained her best friend for life.

I got Molly at the swap meet. She and her litter mates were in a box being given away. Her mom was a Malamute. Her dad, pretty obviously, an Australian shepherd. Molly was the BEST of both breeds. Independent, intelligent, humorous. She was one of those ‘lifetime’ dogs. Training her was “different.” We went to puppy school, but as soon as Molly learned something, rather than practice, she went to sleep. When graduation day came, I didn’t want to take her but my ex did. Molly passed with flying colors, top of the class. Not that she availed herself of all this mastery throughout her life. Molly had an agenda of her own and more wisdom, often, than I have ever had.

In other news, well, you can read it on your own. I just hope it doesn’t devolve into presidential pardons.



7 thoughts on “Fluffaloo

  1. So many dogs we’ve had. I get all misty just thinking about them. AS puppies, older, then older, then finally, old. And so fast, too. Yesterday, Bonnie was 9 weeks old and a couple of days ago, she turned 11.

    • Yeah I know what you mean. Dusty is 11 and it’s hard to imagine life without Dusty. He came into my life at the worst time (up till then and I hope forever) as a puppy and he’s been with me through everything since. He’s just a basic neurotic barky dog, but for some reason I was supposed to rescue him and live with him. There’s no magic to Dusty but watching him open up to life and people over these years has been quietly wonderful. At this point in my life, I think the dogs have been the biggest gift. 🙂 among other great gifts, of course.

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