Arby is ours

Today is National Rescue Dog Day, why it's not an actual federal holiday, I don't know. But what better occasion could there be to announce our most recent member of the pack, Arby.

He's been around here for a while now. How long I couldn't really say for sure. It seems that he's always been here although he's actually the most recent arrival of those that comprise our mismatched, rag tag, conglomeration of canines and their human servants.

It was back in January that I drove over to Petersburg and brought him home as a foster with Peaceful Passings. He was 11 years old and his owner, a former police chief of that town, had just recently died. He was a scared little dog at the shelter and he retained that worried look for the first few weeks around here. Gradually, however, he settled in, learned the routine of the household and its cast of characters. He sort of made a place for himself, generally sitting next to either Clay or me, as I'm sure he had done with his prior owner. We had crated him in the beginning but it was soon obvious that we didn't need to do so. He attained house privileges early on, as well as free roam of the yard, and not long after that he moved himself into the bedroom at night with the rest of the permanent pack.

Arby is right next to my chair in the office when I work
or on the bed in the hallway at the top of the stairs.

He took over Vince's place in many respects. He's an old guy, a bit of a curmudgeon (maybe more than a bit), but he's low maintenance and kind of nice to have around. At 11 years old, he didn't have a lot of folks knocking down our door to adopt, and I would hate to put him through another upheaval at this point in his life, so he's staying here. Our home is probably much more crowded and active than the quiet pace he had been enjoying, but he still does his own thing and everyone is okay with that.

Last night he started out sharing a bed with Max.
This is very odd couple and it didn't last.
Arby moved back to another bed.

Daisy moved indoors today and Arby checked her
out on the way in.

He's a bit of an old coot, perhaps.
I'm thinking of becoming one myself.

He's the smallest dog in the house, by far, but he's not
at all intimidated by the younger and much larger dogs.
Max is afraid to walk past him in the bedroom at night.
I often have to give Max an escort past Arby to get to a bed.

He has claimed the nicest bed in the house, and one of the
largest, as his own. No one challenges him for it.