Making Tracks

I love doing things with the dogs. About this time last year, I made it my special-day birthday request to Tanner that he come with me and the pups on a long walk down the Mineral Wells State Trailway. My 27th birthday isn't until this weekend, and I'll probably see if I can make the trek a tradition this year, but last weekend we also took the dogs to this trail. The weather was just too nice to resist on Sunday, and Tanner knew he'd be stuck inside the shop (at work) setting up jobs for the rest of the afternoon.

Birthday walk, March 2010

Birthday walk, March 2010: Digger against the world

The trail begins in Weatherford (because I'm egocentric) and runs 20 miles westward through the countryside and Lake Mineral Wells State Park before ending in downtown Mineral Wells. We haven't made it that far, but we continue to explore the trail, which used to be WMW & NW railway. In it's heyday, the tracks took thousands of passengers to Mineral Wells to experience the town's mineral springs. That all hit the fan in the early 1900s, and the railway was purchased by Texas & Pacific, then merged with the Missouri Pacific and eventually the Union Pacific. Around 1990, it was purchased by Mineral Wells and then abandoned. In 1998, it was opened as the trailway it is today!

On the trail

And it's an awesome trailway. (Really, it is. I just need to take some pictures during the spring/summer!) It starts in Weatherford at Cartwright Park and goes through 10 miles of cattle and horse pastures, hay patches and ponds before it reaches the cute little town of Garner. My dad, Tanner and I have biked this portion of the trail, and I often drive to the trail head in Garner to walk the dogs because the Garner-eastward portion of the trail is on of my favorite. There is also a cute cafe/general store in Garner where you can get something to eat or buy 4 jugs of Gatorade, like Tanner does after we're done walking.

The trailhead in Weatherford

Last weekend, we walked a portion of the trail we'd never traveled before. We started in Garner and headed west. This portion of the trail hugged Maddux Road, which you could see from the trail most of the time. That ended up not being a big deal because it was a rural road with little traffic and lots of ranchland.


The first adventure along the was was a shanty house on the right where we heard 5 large dogs barking from about 40 feet away. That was a little freaky until we realized they were behind a wire panel that, thankfully, held, despite them all five of them jumping on it at once.

The second adventure what a black and white spotted pit bull that started following us at the trailhead and walked with us all 2 1/2 miles out and 2 1/2 miles back. We saw him for the first little while but didn't realize he was still with us until about mile 1 1/2, which kind of spooked us. Most of the time he trailed far behind and would pop into sight every once and awhile. It kind of reminded me of the movie The Hills Have Eyes. He was pretty cute, and I didn't mind him being there until on the way back, he tried to, ahem, do doggy business with Digger, who is getting a little old and stiff and who at that point, was so tuckered out that all he could do was growl and kinda sorta try to turn behind to bite the other dog. Flexibility, agility and speed are not his strongest suits at this point, which diverted a dog fight. But still, I was very offended for him and felt for his wounded pride. Tanner scared the other dog off, and for Digger's sake, we all agreed we'd never speak of it again.


Third adventure was three additional big dogs running through a field lookin' like they were up to no good. They never ended up bothering us, but after our luck with bears, we erred on the safe side and started gathering the largest sticks we could find. I ended up using mine as a walking stick, which got Tanner thinking about fashioning a walking stick with a spear mounted on the end.

That's safe.

The main adventure was "Dry Creek," which ended up not being totally dry. There was a cliff-encircled pond fed by the creek, which ran through a dry gap of rocks and puddles, which we were able to hop across between pond and the creek upstream.


It was a great day, and we were happy to discover that this portion of the trail was less traveled. Aside from the burgeoning dog population, we only saw one couple bicycling. We're not antisocial. It's just nice to let the dogs run loose and not have to worry about people freaking out. They're nice, but they're just so big that they scare people. Oh, and Happy likes to bark at kids. I missed that part of his human socialization. Oops. The dogs had a great time, and as cheesy as it sounds, it's a great feelings to be able to watch dogs experience pure, unrestrained joy... Minus the humping.


I run a lot on various portions of this trail, but Tanner and I have about 8 miles yet to explore, and my neighbor has invited me to go trail riding (horseback) in Mineral Wells State Park itself.

Here's a pretty cool video on the park and trail with a troooo Takes-sus park RAYger, David Owens. Oh, and the signs on the trail say NO going faster than a walk on horseback. If I ever get in trouble for running my horses, I'll site this video.



Side note on the now abandoned, infamous (for its supposed hauntings) Baker Hotel (mentioned in the video), which was a famous resort spa centered around the mineral baths: During the early 1930s, it drew celebrities like Lawrence Welk, Clark Gable, Greta Garbo, JFK, Marilyn Monroe and supposedly Bonnie and Clyde to the dinky lil' town of Mineral Wells .

A Tribute to My Cat

Our wonderful cat, Striker, has been missing for a week, and sadly, I don't think he's coming back. I've been holding out hope that he's stuck up in a tree or just wandered too far from home, and I suppose that is still possible, but it's probably unlikely. Striker loved, and I mean LOVED, his food and his cozy cat naps in the house. We let him outside each night to do whatever it is cats do all night, and he always returned in the morning like clockwork, meowing to be let in for breakfast. He loved going outside, and the times I tried to make him an indoor cat were miserable for both him and me. But no matter how much fun he's had out in the great outdoors, he's never been gone for more than a day.

Baby Striker (and his spotted belly) with his best friend, baby Bella

I really, really loved my cat. For those of you who don't like cats, and I realize there are many of you, that may be hard to relate to. I understand. I used to not like cats. I grew up (as in I felt this was until I was 22) thinking my friends' cats were scary and always waiting to ambush my ankles from under the bed or jump off a dresser onto my head. Then I got Striker, and I realized how unique, clever, entertaining and even sweet a cat can be. Even in their aloof independence and self-indulgence, they have an attractive quality – they're nobody's fool. And when a cat deems to bless you with his affection, it's a special gesture you are always excited to receive.

The sweetest, cuddly sleeper. Striker used to sleep on my chest when he was little.
When he got too big, we resorted to spooning.

This loss has been really hard for me to handle, especially in the mornings and evenings. I've found myself bursting into tears when I go to the back door in the morning to let the dogs out, caught off guard that Striker's not perched on top of the grill waiting to be let in. Same thing in the evening when I come home from work, I'm used to him being right there at the door waiting for me. It's a meowing, calf-rubbing, gray and black welcome wagon I've been accustomed to being greeted by everyday for the last four years. As dramatic as this sounds, until today I didn't know how I was going to get over it and "move on" so to speak. I can't expect everyone to understand how I feel. A lot of people just aren't "animal people" or "cat people," and some who are also happen to be better dealing with the inevitable loss of a pet.

Places Striker loved to curl up over the years: under the Christmas tree, in the bathroom sink,
in a wicker basket on the sewing table or in the storage shelf, on the wicker patio sofa, on the
sofa arm, on stacks of paper, on wet clothes I've laid out to dry on the bed, on the hood of the truck ...


...and on the new dog beds -- pictures taken the night he disappeared. :(
Can you tell who was the king of the house?

As Tanner said the other day, I just have a lot of "heart" when it comes to animals. I love animals. I love being with animals, working with animals, writing about animals, etc. I love loving animals. I get more joy than many people probably do from their pets, and I also have a lot of sorrow when they're gone. I struggle with letting go of the sadness. Of course, time helps to heal. But today I found myself with a new perspective that I'd never considered before. One that helped heal me.


I was reading in Genesis this morning. I'm trying, for the bizzillionth time, to read through the Bible in one year, which involves reading a few passages each day. I was reading about how, just like man, God created all the animals from the ground (or the dirt of earth) and breathed life into them. God brought them to man to name them all, and God charged man to rule over every bird, fish, and beast of the land. When God was looking for a suitable helper for man, he turned first to look through the animals he had created before deciding on woman (lucky us, *wink ). From the beginning of time, we've had an intimate relationship with animals, and God has blessed us by giving us charge over his creations.


It doesn't mean I don't care my cat is gone, but after reading that this morning, I had a conversation with God that helped me to feel a great peace. If it makes you laugh a little that I had such an intimate and heartfelt conversation about a cat with the Creator of the Universe and Savior of Mankind, that's OK. But that's one of the things I love most about God. I can turn to him for anything, no matter what it involves, a great mountain that needs moving or a tiny little cat that I loved.



Dear God,

You created everything. You worked in all your wonder and power to make all things. You deserve all the glory and all the honor and all the praise.

Thank you for creating Striker. Thank you for creating him with his spotted belly and gray and black stripes and big eyes. Thank you for making him unique and for giving him a personality of his own. Thank you for giving him the instincts, agility, speed and athleticism that make cats amazing. Thank you for bring him into my life.

Thank you for allowing me to be a steward of the animals you've so masterfully created. I'm grateful for the gift and responsibility of caring for them. It brings me great joy. I thank you for gifting me with the patience and compassion to do a good job of it, and I ask for more of each.

Even though it hurts to lose something I loved, Striker, I give you thanks and praise in my sadness. You give and you take away. You remind me that no matter how wonderful something is on this earth, no matter how great a joy Striker brought me, nothing is greater than the gift of knowing you. I treasure my pets, and I thank you for bringing them into my life. The relationship I have with each of them, no matter how sweet, can't last forever. But I can forever count on you to be there for me in good times and bad. My relationship with you is forever, on this earth and after this life.

I'm so glad I can come to you to thank you for this little creation. How wise and wonderful you were when you made the earth and everything in it, including my sweet Striker.

Amen

Things I will remember about Striker:
Coming out of nowhere like a bat out of hell, scaring the crap out of me, running up a tree like a crazy banshee, turning around and running up and down several more trees, then jumping on the roof.

Coming out of the wood work from where ever he was hiding whenever I tapped a wet cat food can with a spoon.

Meowing constantly for his food, but getting lazy and just opening his mouth without making a sound.

Climbing up on my belly, kneading my belly pudge with his claws, and curling up for a nap. (Always made me feel fat.) :)

Sitting on my chest and purring so loud and so deep it reverberated through my whole body.

The stage where he would get in the shower every time after I got out to drink the water and get his paws wet.

The time he got sprayed by a skunk, I gave him a bath, and he was so angry.

Playing with Tater's or Happy's wagging tail like it was a cat a cat toy.

Epic wrestling matches with Bella.

How he loved his Greenie cat treats.

How he loved to lay in the sun shining through the windows.

The time I lived in an apartment and took him for a walk with a harness and leash on -- he ran up a tree and I had to tug him down with the leash.

How he used to kill baby moles, snakes, and lizards and bring them to me.

How we always had to raise all the blinds in the house enough for him to get on the windowsill and look outside during the day -- if you didn't, he destroyed the blinds in protest.

How he LOVED to give kisses on my nose and lips -- he'd lick me with his scratchy little tongue.

How if you scratched his belly, he'd get all hyper and attack your hand.

How if you scratched his booty, he'd bite you cuz if felt so good.

How he'd wriggle and wiggle on the floor and pull himself along the carpet with his claws when he was hyper.

How he'd temp and tease Digger by randomly licking him, biting him, or clawing him.

How he was so darn cute and funny, very cuddly and loveable, and very bad ass and independent.

I will miss him a lot. More than I can say. I'm so glad to have had him.

Too Many Puppies Jumping on the Bed

With Tanner gone last weekend, I decided to replace him with some new bed mates. Don't worry, these bed mates were furry, four-legged, and wet-nosed. (If that's not specific enough for you, they were our DOGS. OK?)

Just like humans, some dogs are better bed buddies than others. My dog, Happy, (who is only called my dog when he's being good; when he's bad, he's our dog), is used to sleeping in a human bed. Back when I was single, and Happy was young and small-ish (for a Lab,) he slept in bed with me almost every night. As he got older and larger, I let him up a little less frequently. But that dog knows not to let go of a good thing, and the nights I put him to sleep (yes, I put him to sleep, like a baby) on his own doggie bed, he usually ended up crawling onto my bed in the middle of the night, somehow without waking me. Sneaky. I didn't really mind though (except for that brief period of my life when I had a white bed spread), because Happy is a sweet bed buddy. He curls up at bottom of the bed OR lays on his side, stretched out with his head on the pillow. When he does the latter, it's no different than sharing your bed with another person. Except the spooning is hairier.

Yes, I'm creepy.

Digger, on the other hand, has little experience sleeping in a human bed. He only got to hop (well, more like pitifully crawl with assistance) in bed with Tanner when the planets aligned: meaning Digger had received a bath that day, and Tanner planned on laundering the sheets and taking a shower the next morning. Remember, this is the guy who has a whole ritual of pillow-case flipping. He doesn't like dirty sheets.

Because of his lack of experience, Digger registered an ultimate FAIL this past weekend, when I graciously invited the dogs onto the bed in Tanner's absence. (To be respectful to Tanner, I bathed them both, and laundered the sheets the next day.) Happy assumed his snuggly spot on my right. Digger, on the other hand, in his ignorance, seemed to mistakenly understand that "sharing the bed" means you have to share the EXACT same spot on the bed. After pretending he couldn't make the jump, I hauled his pitiful butt up onto the bed. He circled a few times, curled up, and plopped down on the comfy spot know as my left hip bone.

He weighs 78 lbs.

I scooted over. He scooted over. I turned on my side, he wedged himself against my back. I burrowed underneath the covers and hid out at the bottom of the bed, he tunneled in after me with a head lamp. He was everywhere. I'm talking about MAJOR bed hogging. Clingy, suffocating, manic bed hogging. Finally, I gave up my diversion tactics, and straight-up tried to SHOVE him off of me. Then, I remembered another thing about Digger. Instead of moving away from pressure, he leans into it like his very survival depends on it. Try to push him off you, and he pushes back with a crushing force, bracing his legs and digging in with his claws, doing whatever it takes to move in the opposite direction you are trying to nudge him in.

Finally, at 2 AM, after fits of epic shoving fights and a relentless battle of the wills, Digger gave into fatigue and probably bruised ego, and retreated back to his dog bed.

Really?

OK, so maybe I laid on my stomach, put my hands on the wall and my feet on Digger's bottom, and pushed and grunted with all my might until Digger awkwardly tumbled off the bed, landed with a thump on his rear, and sulked in rejection to his bed.

I felt bad.

But then I fell asleep.

From the Date Night Archives: Horseback Picnic, Part Two

If you missed Part One of this enchanting tail (haha, like a horse's tail, get it? cheeseball), you can read it here. Or, ya know, just scroll down a lil bit.

This whole idea for a romantic horseback picnic originated with a wicker picnic basket I received at my bridal shower in Katy. So, really, this whole resulting mess of a date can entirely be blamed on the Gwaltneys. It's one of those old-fashioned looking wicker baskets, lined with fabric and closed with a metal clasp. For some reason, I always imagined a perfect picnic would include homemade fried chicken, potato salad, and pie, all wrapped in wax paper and tucked away in such a daahhling basket as the one I was now a proud owner of. But, then again, I think my brain is all a muck with cliches because my mental picnic also involves a parasol and Laurie putting combs in my hair before I tell him I'm going to marry Fred Vaughn. Anyways... none of the above manifested in the reality of this date. And because the picnic basket came already packed with assorted cheeses, crackers, wine, and other goodies, that was gonna work juuuussst fine. Sorry, Laurie. Next time, chicken fry.

Tanner and I (well, mostly I) had been talking about this picnic for a while, but actually decided to do it on the spur of the moment one boring evening when we realized that it would be winter pretty soon and picnics are not so fun when it's 38 degrees. We were hoping to time the actual picnic for sunset, cuz duh that's soooo romantic, so we rushed outside to get the horses ready. Things seemed destined for perfection, because instead of running around the pasture in a infuriating game of "catch me if you can," the horses waited patiently while we haltered them and tacked up. I stuffed my saddle bag full of multiple blanket choices and an assortment of gloves, sweater, vest, and jacket options; ya know, in case the plates shifted and we were thrown into alternating hemispheres at random. I rolled up a pallet, mounted up, had Tanner tie on the picnic basket, and we headed off down the road.

That, is when I realized that with every step Stetson took, that precious (and surprisingly heavy) picnic basket was going to whack me not so gently in the leg. That is when I began wondering if wicker crosshatch motifs imprinted in the skin might come in fashion. That is when I realized Stetson and I could go no faster than a walk, to prevent my shin from breaking in half. And, that is when I realized that Pepper and Tanner were doing everything BUT walking at a leisurely pace.

You see, the last time Tanner rode Pepper, Britney Spears was dating Justin Timberlake. Despite the fact that Pepper has thrown us both, breaking my pelvis and nearly dislocating Tanner's shoulder, Tanner just kinds hops on him with that foolish fearless male attitude and heads off down the kaliche road. Did I mention it's a road made of hard, jaggedy little rocks? Did I also mention that Pepper seemed to not recall how to steer or maintain a consistent speed? Hand holding as we piddled down lovers lane was apparently not an option. Instead, as we headed down the road toward our neighbor's pasture, I was left in a cloud of kaliche dust, as Tanner and Pepper waged an epic battle of man vs. animal. They zigged, and zagged, and circled, and gallopped, and backed, and side stepped, and all the while, Tanner artfully painted the dimming sky with his colorful expressions -- none of which I will repeat here. I sensed the romance dwindling as Tanner's face, red with frustration, led our mismatched party through the pasture like a beacon. Me plunking along on my antisocial, Eeyore of a horse, who was trying repeatedly to yank the reins out of my hands so he could snatch grass, and Tanner and Pepper rapidly burning a trail trail straight to.... well, ya know.

So we trespassed down to our neighbor's pond (well, they told us about a year ago that we were welcome to ride there, and we decided to belatedly take them up on it), because I thought that would be a romantic spot. We all made it there in one piece, unpacked out gear, and hobbled the horses (which involves tying their front two legs together so they can only take tiny little steps).

It was looking like things might calm down. Tanner had exercised the limits of his vocabulary, and was starting to cool off. So we plopped down at our spot and opened up our treasure trove of goodies. After taking turns screaming at the dogs, begging them to stay out of the pond, and then after they didn't listen, employing mixed martial arts techniques to keep them from tracking muck all over our blanket, we uncorked the wine and started eating.

That's when I realized that we were not the only lovers who found this particular picnic spot enticing. We were joined by hoards of mosquito lovers, and apparently all of their resulting offspring. While biting into an olive, I notice a dingy halo hovering above Tanner's head.
"Ummm.... Tanner. Is that a thought cloud?"
"What?"
"Are there a bunch of mosquitos circling my head?"
"No."
"Well.... there's like a whole mosquito situation thing going on above your head."
"Hrmp."

Although he claimed he was not being bitten, the little bug cloud stayed perched above his head, and only his head, for the rest of the evening.

As it turned out. We perfectly timed unpacking the picnic basket with the sun setting. It was a beautiful sunset. Magestic. Awe-inspiring.

And it lasted about 2 minutes.

Then, it was pretty much dark. I mean, we could see, but barely. I could see just enough to witness Pepper's head pop up in the air, ears alert, eyes buggin', nostrils flared, etc. Who knows what he saw, or thought he saw, or might have heard. But he was gone in a flash. Stirrups flapping at his side and tail in the air, he took off like, well, like he always does. This time, though, he was three-legged.

If you've never seen a horse run with hobbles on, it's a morbid combination of hilarious and terrifying. Their two front legs become one, and they paw forward in an awkward plop, with the hind following behind. And since horses carry most of their weight on their front end, when you give them one leg to balance on as they run, it's a lumbering, frightful spectacle to say the least. And Pepper wasn't just hopping along, I mean he was booking it, clodding up and down uneven terrain in the dark, teetering on the verge of falling and breaking his neck. And of course, Stetson had no choice but to follow suit. I'm not sure why, but Tanner retrieved the horses, brought them back closer to our picnic site, and sat back down, hoping to continue our picnic in the dark. Of course, they thundered off again a few minutes later, running even deeper into the farthest corners of our neighbors' property.

So, in the dark, we stuffed our faces with the last of the hummus, gathered up all our junk in our arms (including my wardrobe options), and trekked through the hay looking for our trustworthy mounts.

On the way home, Pepper exerted the last of his engery, again going about a million miles a minute down the trail. There was a fleeting moment, between Tanner running Pepper in circles, when we crossed paths and shared a kiss. And maybe that's why, after it all, when we had returned home and I had ungrafted the seat of my pants from my skin, I started planning our next horseback picnic.

From the Date Night Archives: Horseback Picnic, Part One

Tanner and I have two horses, Stetson and Pepper. They live on the 2 or so acres that surround our rental home.

This is Stetson. He spends most of his time eating, chasing Pepper away from his food (Stetson considers all food to be his food), rolling in the dirt, ignoring the curious neighboring horses who hang their heads over the fence, sticking his head through the gate into our back yard to eat our lawn, coughing up phlegm and spiting it on my shoes (he's allergic to dust, pollen, bugs, other horses, air, exercise, and happiness), grumbling and neighing at me every time I come out of the house (day or night) to try and get me to feed him, and figuring out how to open gates and jump over barriers to get into the feed room.
He grumpy. He's cantankerous. He's middle-aged. But he's also incredibly smart. He's the kind of grumbly old guy who you shake your head at, and pretend to be mad at -- but secretly, you kind of like that he's an ole grouch.

Photo by Alana Harrison

This is Pepper. He spends most of his time trying to eat Stetson's left over scraps, chewing with his mouth open and spewing grain in a 10 foot radius, sniffing and nibbling your clothes, trying to play over the fence with the curious neighbor horses, sticking his head through the gate to try and sniff and nibble the dogs, running away from us when we come out of the barn on a cold night with his blanket, coming up to the fence for a pat every time I come out of the house (day or night), and figuring out the most circuitous route to his hay in avoidance of Stetson.
He's sweet, curious, and jumpy. He's a silly teenager. He spends a lot of time trying to decide, "Am I afraid of that? Or interested in it?" He makes me laugh as one minute he's snuggling, and the next he's running away kicking up dust.

Every once and while, we'll interrupt the glamorous every day lives of these horses, and put a saddle on them. That was our plan when we dreamed-up a romantic horseback ride and picnic. I was pretty excited. I mean, MAN, this was going to be roMANtic! I was already story-boarding in my head the Harlequin romance I was going to pen based on our sunset ride and horderves. The original plot involved the aforementioned sunset, a leisurely horseback stroll during which Tanner and I intertwined fingers and blew kisses, cheese and crackers and other goodies fed to each other on a cozy blanket as our horses munched grass and our dogs gazed at butterflies looping through the air, and a bunch of other mooshy "chocolate-bearing-cowboy take me away" scenarios.

The finialized, post-reality-edited story line... yeah, a leetle different.

More to come.

Sleepin' Like a Dog

A lot of women (and some men) complain about their spouse's snoring, and how it keeps them up at night. I'm not one of those women. While my new husband DOES talk/shout/mumble in his sleep, smack me in the face when he rolls over and flops his arm down, knee me in the back when he abruptly draws his legs up into the fetal position, and shoot up to the sitting position in the middle of night and scare me senseless, he DOES NOT snore. But... his dog does.

Yeah, Digger really saws some logs. He doesn't have respiratory problems. It's just that, for some reason, he sleeps with his nose smooshed into his doggie bed -- hence, the snore factor. I've always slept with my pooch in my room -- yes, when I was single I often let him sleep with me in my bed (sorry Mom, I pretty much ignored you when you forbid Happy from sleeping in my bed in Katy). I liked him sleeping in there with me. He kept me company in my lonely apartment, and it just seemed like undeserved punishment to make him sleep out in the living room by himself.

But now, well, one of the dogs is keeping me up some nights with his snozzling. Sometimes, when it's really bad, I get up and reposition his face so he's not suffocating himself. (Like, DUH!) And well, two large dogs and their two large beds is more crowded. And if we were to cruelly banish them to the laundry room or office, they'd at least have each other! There's a part of me that wants them out, but another part that can't stomach it. They're so sweet, and all they want in life is to be near us.

What do y'all do with your dogs when it's time for beddie-bye? Where do they sleep? Will they hate me if I kick them out?

Not Just a Dog Book

I just finished the audio book for A Big Little Life, by well-known author Dean Koontz. I've GOT to recommended this read (or this "listen" in my case), especially (but not just) for dog-lovers. The book is a memoir about Dean's incredibly special Golden Retriever, Trixie, who changed his personal and professional life. Dean writes that Trixie is a dog, but not just a dog. In the same way, this is NOT just another dog book, it's much more. It's heart-warming and laugh-inducing like other dog books such as Marley and Me (although Trixie is NOTHING like Marley), but it also goes further than that; it's is a philosophical look on the wonder and mystery of life, faith, and relationships. It truly inspired me to take a different approach to how I see and explain the things around me. Plus, it's a short read, so enjoy!

A side note from life with our own dogs: A couple days ago Tanner happened to arrive home while I was walking the dogs, running into us (not literally, thankfully ) in his truck as we were walking up the road -- it was a nice surprise and we were all happy to see him. Ever since then, Digger seems to be expecting Tanner to make a guest appearance on all of our walks. Every time he hears an engine running (or exhaust, or whatever it is about vehicles that makes noise when they are going!), even if it's far away on the FM road our street is off of, he gets really excited, wags his tail, and begins looking for Tanner's truck. It's really cute, and I hope someday he's rewarded again.

Nope, sorry Digger, just some random old lady in an SUV. Not EVEN close.