10 years ago today, a Scottie was born to people who simply didn’t know what to do with him. And didn’t care to know. His tail was bent. His white markings didn’t fit the bill for show. He was different. He didn’t fit in.
So, they largely ignored him, but not before naming him Clifford.
We met the pup who would be Stuart when he was only 9 weeks old. The most adorable living thing I’d ever seen.
He was different, yes, but not for the superficial reasons his breeders didn’t like him.
He was different because he had a presence. Stuart was an old soul.
You can see it in his eyes. Even in photographs. You can clearly see that he never looked at you. He looked into you. He pondered. He thought a lot. He was wise.
For about half of Stuart’s life, I took time off from work on March 15 so that he and I could go on a little adventure. To celebrate. We’d go to a park or a pond. The last two years, we convinced The Dad Peep to go along with us.
We’d chase swans, study ducks and bark at geese (yes, we’d all bark). All things he loved to do. Together.
I’m staying home today.
Happy Birthday Precious Boy. Pawty On.