Dogs

Until The End He Was A Pal – A Second Publishing

Benjamin2 Comments
8–12 minutes

© Benjamin H. Groff II — Truth Endures / benandsteve.com

This story first appeared some time ago, but it felt right to bring it back — with a little update. It’s about the dogs who’ve shared our lives over the years. Each one has left paw prints on our hearts that never fade. We’ve laughed with them, cared for them through their golden years, and mourned them when they left us. Those memories still tug at the heart, but they also remind us how lucky we were to have them.

And now, there’s Otis. The latest addition to our little family. Otis is, without question, a show all on his own. He is full of personality and quirks that can fill a book. He’s mostly happy, sometimes possessive, and always fiercely protective. His love is big, messy, and unconditional — and we smother him right back with ours. He keeps us laughing with his antics and over-the-top expressions. But one word of advice: don’t ever try to take his food away. Let’s just say you will walk away a finger short.

So to start –

It was a lazy Sunday. We had been at the desert retreat. We had bought it and happily named it the Roads End Ranch. It is west of Phoenix, Arizona. The location was so remote. Cattle still stirred throughout the desert region. They crossed the roadways undeterred by speeding cars. These cars carried new homeowners to neighborhoods built further out of the city. Occasionally, you would see a dead cow with all fours extending straight up. It had fallen victim to a collision with someone from the big town. They were speeding over a hill at night. When we first moved to the Roads End, we brought our fearless terrier, “Buddie.” We built him a castle of a doghouse. It had access to an airconditioned tool building. He was all of ten pounds and fattened on hotdogs. He loved them and would fight the biggest opponent before him and win to get his. Earlier in the summer, Buddy appeared sluggish and started drooping.

We thought he had been caught out in the heat. He had refused to take shelter in the tool shed. Instead, he wanted to fight with a ground squirrel that terrorized him daily. But the more we checked on him, the worse he got. We rushed him to a veterinarian, and testing began. They were baffled for two days. They not conclude what was wrong with this terror of the UPS driver. The little black attack dog would hide behind his favorite bush. He watched the driver unload the truck. Then he would rush up to the fence. He raised Cain with a bark so fierce. It startled the driver every time. Buddie was in trouble. Finally, a phone call came. The Vet’s office tech informed us about Buddie’s test results.

The results confirmed what we had feared — Buddie had advanced Valley Fever. The vet told us it can be deadly if not caught early, and they were deeply sorry. The delay in getting his test results back had cost us precious time. We met later that afternoon at the veterinary office to hear the full diagnosis.

Valley Fever, technically known as coccidioidomycosis, is a fungal infection caused by Coccidioides (pronounced kok-sid-ee-oh-OI-deez). Sometimes called “San Joaquin Valley Fever,” it can cause fever, coughing, fatigue, and other flu-like symptoms. There are two species of the Coccidioides fungus, both commonly found in dry, dusty soil throughout the Southwest. Farming, construction, strong winds—anything that stirs up the earth—can send their spores into the air.

When inhaled, those spores can infect the lungs. In humans, Valley Fever can range from mild to severe. Some cases resolve on their own. Others need antifungal medication. But unlike people, pets can’t tell us when something feels wrong. They rely on us to notice.

Buddie was always digging. He often chased ground squirrels. He buried his nose deep into the dirt. His head was below ground as often as it was above. By the time we recognized the signs, the infection had already taken hold. The fungus had consumed his lungs, leaving no hope for recovery. We had lost our boy — and with him, a piece of our hearts.

We said our goodbyes to Buddie. He slowly went to sleep. We brought him home to the Roads End Ranch. We buried him in his favorite corner. This was the one he liked to catch the UPS man. After his passing, we were finished with the idea of having more pals. Losing him had just been too hard. Besides, we were taking care of Steve’s mother, and she was entering hospice and taking up all of our time. It was all we do to her.

We took the best care of Steve’s mother, keeping her in our home through many ups and downs. Then, in June, she passed early one Sunday morning. It was quiet. Nothing was moving, not even our cat. It had been over a year since losing Buddie. And, now we were experiencing loss again. A month of memorials seemed to take place. We remembered her in Arizona. Then, we returned to Oklahoma to lay her to rest.

Then, we came home. The house was empty. It was just the two of us and the cat, Blanche, a spade female, Siamese. We had brought her with us from the move when we left Wichita, Kansas after 9/11, nearly six years earlier. She only became vocal when something got on her nerves or when I talked to her. She would talk back to Steve if he yelled at her, they had a relationship like that. 

A few months passed, and Steve suggested we drive to the South Phoenix animal shelter and look at dogs. He said we didn’t want to get one—just look to get out of the house. So we left. When arriving, we walked through the outdoor kennel area. There were so many dogs, all barking for attention—except for one. He was a hound dog. He looked pitiful. It was like he had lost his last best friend. He was moping over in a corner of his kennel. He was not excited to see anyone. Yet, he came to us. Steve asked to take him for a walk, and the attendants provided a lead. The hound strolled around with us for ten minutes. He did not seem more excited than Eeyore from Winnie The Pooh.

During our walk with this dog, we decide to adopt an 80-pound, six-month-old American Fox Hound. We get him to our car and load him into the backseat. As both of us sit down up front, his head appears between the seats. He looks at the two of us. I asked Steve what are we calling him? We were listening to a song by an artist named Shooter Jennings, whom we both enjoyed. So, our dog found himself named Shooter at that point. We only put a little thought into it.  

Buddie our first dog saved Shooter’s life!

Valley Fever can show up in dogs in many ways. One of the most common signs is unexplained joint pain, often in a front leg. We learned that too late with Buddie. By the time we understood what was happening, the infection had already taken hold. But when Shooter came limping in one afternoon, crying out at even the lightest touch, we didn’t hesitate. We rushed him to the vet, and the diagnosis was clear — Valley Fever again. This time, though, we were ready. Medication was started right away, and Shooter recovered. In a way, Buddie had taught us how to save Shooter. Our first pal had given his life to save our second — a lesson in love we’ll never forget.

Shooter grew into a 120-pound dog, the most loyal hound a person ever asked for. He never made a mistake or mess in the house. He always strives to please us. His life was one of loyalty. He was a big scaredy-cat but the most excellent protector. He hated thunderstorms. He would only go out in the rain if you went with him. You had to hold an umbrella over him while he did his business. He’d keep it and refuse to go outside if you didn’t offer to take the umbrella. If you had a big juicy bone, you lay a towel down on the floor. Tell him to keep it on the towel. Not a piece of the bone would hit any other part of the floor. He stayed put. He was the perfect boy. He loved other people. Too much sometimes. Steve often accidentally tripped our home alarm. The local police department would arrive. That is when you realize naming your dog Shooter was not the best choice. The first time they were here, we yelled, “Shooter, get down!” The look on the officer’s face was priceless. We were using the wrong tone. It wasn’t how we should have been saying it. The officer asked if we were alone and if we were okay. Are you being threatened?

We had to explain that was the dog’s name. We had to go through the whole dog licensing explanation. Fortunately, I had photo identifications made of ‘Shooter’. I offer them, which brought fun to the moment. After that incident, I took action to make sure the 911 center had a note. It stated that a dog named Shooter lived at our location. They should expect to hear us yelling commands at him because he loves everybody. “Shooter” lived until the age of 14. One summer, a micro-burst struck and tore the roof off our home. During the process, we were reduced to living out of one room of our home while it was under repair. “Shooter” had been showing signs of slowing down. We had been concerned we would find him gone some morning, but he was always there to greet us.

While the house was under construction, “Shooter” seemed worse. We called a veterinarian to come to our home. He not be there until the next day because of the damage. That evening, his breathing became labored, and we cuddled with him, holding our pal. He raised his head, let out two last whines, and died. Our “Shooter-boy” was gone. He had been our best friend and closest family member many times. He was filling in for the loss of others who passed. He taught us how to love and be brave during thunderstorms. In the end, I believe he showed us how even to die.

“Shooter”

Today we have Otis. A Jack Russell Terrier. We describe him as a terror. He is a character. And a handful at times. He keeps us busy. Wanting to play, and running in and out of the house. He is very protective of his home. We have to put him in a safe area when we have company. He needs time to adjust to new people being inside. We wait to see what is up with him each day. Never knowing what he will do next.

“OTIS”

Otis is named after the drunk on the Andy Griffith show. This is mainly because when we went to adopt him, he escaped from the shelter. Four people were chasing him around the parking lot and buildings. He finally was captured. And placed in a holding cell. We couldn’t help but love his innocent look he had after his little run from the law. He has an attitude. He will growl when he has had enough of you. Telling you to let him be. If you notice not any single one of our dogs have a single thing in common. Except that they were rescued from animal shelters. And they live a full and happy life.

By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | ©2025

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Elias: The Man with an Animal Connection – Better Than Dr Doolittle And Wiser Than Dr Livingstone

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2–3 minutes

The Listener

Elias never thought of himself as special. He lived in a small cabin at the edge of the woods. There, he worked as a carpenter. In the evenings, he fed the stray cats that wandered in from the trees. He had always felt an odd comfort around animals. He attributed this to his quiet nature and patient hands.

It began with his dog, Rusty. One evening while Elias rubbed behind the old hound’s ears, he thought he heard a whisper. It wasn’t a sound exactly, but a clear impression: “Don’t stop, that feels good.” Elias froze, hand hovering mid-scratch. Rusty nudged him insistently, and the thought returned, playful and warm. At first, Elias dismissed it as his imagination. The barn cat slinked across the porch the next morning. Yet, he felt a sharp pang of hunger that wasn’t his own. He realized something impossible was happening.

At first, the animals spoke only in feelings. They expressed affection when he stroked their fur. There was annoyance if he pulled away too soon, and gratitude when he left out food. But as days passed, the impressions grew sharper, almost like sentences forming inside his mind. One afternoon, Rusty limped. Elias felt a jolt of pain in his knee. This was followed by the plea: “It hurts, please help.” He checked and found a thorn buried deep in the dog’s paw. A sparrow darted to his windowsill and flooded him with urgency: “Nest broken, chicks in danger.” Elias followed its pull and discovered a nest toppled in the wind. He rescued the hatchlings before the foxes found them.

Word seemed to spread, though Elias never understood how. Stray dogs lingered near his cabin. Deer stared at him without fear. Once, even a wounded hawk landed on his porch rail. Each brought with it a silent voice—requests for healing, warnings of predators, messages of danger to others of their kind. With every answered call, Elias felt the bond deepen.

Soon he realized this gift was more than companionship. It was responsibility. He can bridge a gap no one else: soothing fear, preventing harm, guiding creatures toward safety. A flood threatened the lower fields. He was awoken by the frantic voices of burrowing animals. He led the farmer’s family to higher ground just in time. Poachers crept through the forest one autumn night. The owls carried their presence to him in overlapping echoes. He alerted the rangers. Before long, his reputation surpassed even that of Dr. Doolittle, carrying an edge that would have made famed explorer Dr. Livingstone himself take notice.

Elias no longer saw himself as just a man in a cabin. He was part of a living chorus, every feather, paw, and claw connected through an unseen thread. And though it sometimes weighed heavy on him, he carried it gladly. For the first time in history, animals had found someone who truly listened. He had discovered a purpose greater than he’d ever imagined.

By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | 2025

The Trail Guardians – Chapter Five: Heroes of the Trail

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By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | 2025 Truth Endures©

10–15 minutes

Bruiser, Oggy and Jackie
Bruiser, Oggy and Jackie, three friends that protected Benji.

It was Three O’clock in the morning before the Doctor arrived at Benji’s home. The Doctor had been tied up delivering twin babies out in the country, 12 miles south of town. When he returned to his office, his night nurse instructed him to go to Benji’s house for an emergency. The Doctor hadn’t wasted any time. Benji’s parents led the Doctor down the hall to Benji’s room. Benji’s mother explained in detail to the Doctor. She shared that Benji has had a 106-degree temperature.

“I haven’t managed to get it to break. I have tried everything I know to use.”

The Doctor took a look at Benji, who was mumbling. Shining a light into Benji’s pupils, they were dilated and fixed, something the Doctor didn’t like. He took his temperature, and it read 107. He checked the inside of Benji’s mouth. He saw what looked like the start of mouth blisters caused by the temperature. Oddly, Benji’s ears were clear. The Doctor turned to Benji’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Roff.

“I’m not at liberty to reveal what it is. Is it is an allergic reaction to something the boy found in the forest? Possible. Is it a splinter infection we can’t see. Or it is a virus. Plenty of those are circulating these days. The important thing for us to do is get him cooled down.”

The Doctor instructed Benji’s mother to soak him in a bathtub filled with cold water and ice.

“He needs ice baths every hour. He’ll start fighting it. I would, too. But, we need to lower the temperature to at least 100. Then, we can give him some over-the-counter medication to help from there. Plus, while you are soaking him, be sure to watch his feet for thorns or splinters he has. Do the same with the legs, arms, and hands. Check any part of his body for that matter. We want to make sure he hasn’t got some foreign item infecting him.”

Madge, Benji’s mother, was quick to start running cold tap water into the tub. She emptied ice trays and sent Jake to the store to buy bags of ice. Benji’s temperature continued to rise. It climbed to 109. The Doctor was sitting in the kitchen. He had a cup of coffee. He said,

“I don’t like this one bit. If it goes up much further, we are going to have to put him in a hospital. I know it is costly and a ways from home. But, we need access to fluids and IVs that only a hospital can offer. Continue bathing him and try to see if we can lower the temperature.”

As Benji’s parents moved him from the bed to the bath, he talked about feral hogs. He also mentioned wildcats and bottomless pits. Benji’s mother asked her husband, Jake, if he had any idea what he was talking about. Jake, scratching his head, replied wearily,

“Not – A- Clue! I have never heard him talk of any of them, and we ain’t got that thing around here.”

Madge asked Jake if he had wandered into No Man’s Land and got the ideas from there. Jake replied,

“I don’t see how. All that is back there is old scrub brush and blackjack trees. Maybe a few bobcats and a coyote or two. Our cows won’t even go in there. The most he’d get if he went in there is dirty.”

Benji kept having visions of Bruiser standing in front of him. Bruiser was fighting off a feral hog. Oggy distracted a second hog. Then, Jackie barked at a third. Then, his vision went black. And a cold wash went over him. SPLASH! Next, he was in a cave. He heard a scream and looked around for its source. He felt the dogs surrounding him. Again, a Cold wash went over him, and it went dark again. SPLASH! Next, he was near the Bottomless Pit. He looked around and saw the straight-down drop-off. His stomach became unsettled. Then, another cold wash, SPLASH! He was at the clearing with his parents. This time, they were drying him off. Benji began struggling and squealing -––– yelling out,

“Oh, please tell me I didn’t fall into the Bottomless Pit! “

Madge and Jake, both happy that he was awake and the temperature appeared to have broken, called to him. Madge, hugging him, cried.

“Benji, Benji, can you hear us? You have been so sick, son.”

Jake wanted to know what Benji had been talking about. He asked,

“What is all this talk about? You mentioned feral hogs, wildcats, and bottomless pits. You had us all going for a minute. That must’ve been some dream!”

Benji said it wasn’t a dream; it happened. He knew it did. He wanted to know how are Bruiser, Oggy, and Jackie? Jake assured him they were fine. They had all been fed. They were sleeping on their pads by the door. They were being lazy. Benji asked if Bruiser had to have stitches. Jake laughed, asking,

“What are you talking about? Bruiser is fine; he has been playing with Oggy out in the front yard all afternoon. But I can tell they all three are missing you being out there with them.”

Benji couldn’t figure out how this could all be just a dream. It had to be real. It had to have been something he did. He stopped elaborating on the story. He was cautious because he didn’t want his parents to limit where he go. After a week of healing and receiving the Doctor’s approval, Benji was back to his regular habits. The Doctor suspected he must’ve had some spoiled food. The last thing Benji remembers eating before getting sick was canned Vienna Sausages. They had stayed in a pack in a locked car in the sun’s heat for some time. He and his pals were on the fringes of the yard, playing rescue. It required rations of sorts to get back to home base. So, Benji used cans of Vienna Sausages. He had been carrying them with him for a year or longer. He had left them in his backpack in locked cars throughout the summer and winter months. The Doctor guessed. Those things must have marinated well over sixty times. They probably tasted like prime rib to Benji. After a week and a half, Benji was back to his regular self, as were the dogs. Leading and trailing the youngster wherever he went.

Benji promised himself he had to know. He got down on one knee before leaving the house that day. He told Bruiser, Oggy, and Jackie,

“You guys don’t have to come with me. I know in my dream, if that was what it was, you almost got hurt badly. Especially you, Bruiser. It is okay if you want to stay home and sit this one out. I understand!”

The three pooches glanced at each other. It seemed like they were taking a moral inventory. Then they looked back at Benji. In unison, they all barked -––

“We’re in!”

They were all off to the Hollow that led to the area Benji called “No Man’s Land.”

This time, they got there early in the morning, just after 7:00 a.m. Benji called his trio of pals and said –––

“Here we go, guys! A, One, a two, and a three.”

With that, the four crossed the imaginary line Benji had always set for “No Man’s Land.” They hiked, scampering through underbrush and thick overgrowth for thirty minutes when they came to a clearing. One clearing matched where the feral hogs had attacked. But on this day, it was peaceful. No critters were around. His three dogs’ ears were all on alert. Their eyes scanning the trees around them, but they found nothing to be alarmed over. Benji sat on a log, Bruiser, Oggy and Jackie circled him for a pep talk.

“So far, so good. We’ve been enjoying our beef jerky up to this point, so here are your pieces.”

Benji looked east, feeling out of sequence with his dream. He saw the Bottomless Pits. He decided to walk over to the drop-off. As Bruiser, Oggy, and Jackie looked over the cliff at the water below, it was just like Benji’s dream. Now, Benji started to question whether he had a dream. How did I know what this would look like if I had never been here? He didn’t have an answer, but he still wanted to go further and see what was deeper inside.

As he and the three dogs crept through the brush, another clearing came. As Benji got to the center, he looked up, and there were Sandrock cliffs all around him. On one side was a cave. It seemed like the cave he had spent a night in with his three dogs. Had it been a dream, or was it real? He and the dogs walked up to the cave. It didn’t look as if anything had disturbed the soil in a very long time. No animals, no person, not even a bird. Which Benji thought to be odd.

Benji wanted to examine the watering hole where the Wildcat had been spotted the night of his ‘dream.’ When he got to it, he saw that it was clear as day and ice cold. It was a natural spring. You can drink from this Spring without getting ill. It was not contaminated. The Spring fed a creek; Benji looked at the creek flowing north. It was one of the few creeks in the county to do so. The creek is on his Dad’s farm. He always wondered where the creek water flowed from. Now he knew. And he knew it was Spring fed—another interesting fact.

Benji turned to take the path he and the dogs used to enter the opening. Surprising him, there stood an older man. He wore a white shirt with suspenders paired with pants tucked into knee-high boots and a floppy hat. Behind him stood a mule saddled.

“Young man, you lost?”

He asked.

“No, I don’t think so,”

Benji replied.

“This is on my father’s farm. I have never been brave enough to venture into these parts. I’m here to take a look around.”

The older man laughed.

“Well, my name is Elmer. I have lived out here in these parts all my life. And there ain’t nothing to be afraid of. But, this is the second time you’ve been here with your buddies. I helped you out of here the other night. I was afraid for all four of you. You and your dogs looked like you had stopped and eaten loco weed. That’s the devil, weed, boy; it will make your head spin.”

Benji, looking confused, asked Elmer,

“You said Loco Weed? What is that?”

Elmer rubbed his mule’s head. He propped his hat back on his head. He let out a breath. –

It looks like Polk Salad. That is what gets many people to mistake it for Polk. But it is LOCO. I’ve seen horses and cows do all kinds of crazy on the stuff. I tried to kill it all off my place. But it keeps finding its way back; birds, animals, and such have a way of replanting things.

Benji then asked,

“So, you helped me out of here? “

Elmer was quick to oblige –

“Yep, me and old Sara here; that’s my mule’s name. We were over here trying to find a couple of my hogs that got loose. They retreat to the Blackjack Trees and wallow in the cool soil. Anyway, we were trying to find our hogs, and we came across you guys trying to fight them. You thought they were some third-world alien implant. I got a big laugh out of that.”

Benji, scratching his head, looked at Elmer.

“I don’t remember that part, and I don’t remember meeting you.”

Elmer said he doubted that he would. He was surprised to see the boy back out there ever again. You were having a tough time. I have no idea what drove you to eat loco weed. Benji explained that he was trying to live off the land. He wanted to be a true backwoodsman. He thought he’d be eating something like Polk. He had never heard of loco weed. Elmer told me he’d know, and he’d be smart to stay clear of it. Benji said the dogs ate when Benji wrapped it around a Vienna Sausage.

Elmer said,

‘Now I have heard everything.’

Elmer explained to Benji he was in “No Man’s Land” all of two hours that night.

“I loaded you on old Sara. I took you down to your parents. I told them I found you and the dogs in the woods very sick. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to do it again tonight. Benji said no, now that I know what I did, I won’t do it again. Thank you for talking to me.”

Elmer said your big dog there looks like he’s got into some briers. Benji looked, and it appeared just as it had when the injuries from the boars were inflicted on Bruiser. Benji said I need to get him home. He needed to take care of the injury. Benji also need to make sure the other two were okay. Benji thanked Elmer for telling him about what happened. Elmer flashed a peace sign to Benji and told him,

“Well, son, just you and I know. That is all that matters. Of course, these three friends of yours know, but they won’t say anything. Just remember to be careful about chasing make-believe.”

That night, Benji sat on the porch. A bandaged Bruiser rested at his feet. Oggy curled up on the welcome mat. Jackie sat beside him, her eyes watchful and wise. His father stepped outside.

“Heard some wild barking earlier. Everything okay?”

Benji smiled.

“Better than okay. Oggy warned us. Bruiser protected me. And Jackie brought us home.”

Jake scratched Bruiser’s ear.

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves three of the best dogs in the county!”

From that day on, every afternoon, the school bus came to a halt at 3:35. Three dogs waited at the gate. They were ready for the next trail, the next challenge, and the next memory to be made. Because no matter how wild the world became, Benji never hiked alone.

Meet Benji and His Canine Companions: A Heartwarming Tale

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By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | 2025 Truth Endures©

2–3 minutes

Meet the Trail Guardians: A Boy, Three Dogs, and the Adventures That Bind Them

In the quiet stretch of Oklahoma back-country, the hills roll gently. The wind carries the scent of cedar and earth. A school bus door creaks open every afternoon at 3:35 p.m. Out steps a boy named Benji. He is full of curiosity and grit. He loves the wild places that lie just beyond the fence line. But he’s not alone. Waiting faithfully at the gate are his three loyal companions—Oggy, Bruiser, and Jackie.

To most folks, they’re just dogs. But to Benji—and anyone lucky enough to witness them in action—they’re guardians. Each has a purpose. Each with a soul as big as the land they roam.

Oggy is the scout. He is a lightning-fast border collie. His job is to stay out front. He sniffs out threats and leads the way with sharp instinct. Bruiser, the muscle-bound mastiff mix with a thunderous bark and a heart of gold, never strays from Benji’s side. He is the protector. And Jackie, the wise and steady golden retriever, always takes the rear. She remembers every twist and turn in the woods. She is the quiet navigator. She ensures they always find their way back home.

What begins as a simple after-school tradition—just a boy and his dogs hiking the countryside—becomes something far greater. These four face the untamed wilderness. They discover the secrets of the land. They defend each other against the dangers that lurk in the shadows. These include wild boars, treacherous terrain, and even the unpredictable spirit of nature itself.

But this story isn’t just about survival—it’s about trust and purpose. It’s about the powerful bond that exists between a child and the animals who would give anything to protect him. It’s about finding your place in the world, knowing your role, and honoring it with everything you’ve got. It’s about how the world can feel vast and uncertain. Having the right ones by your side can make all the difference.

The Trail Guardians is a heartwarming, adventurous tale set against the backdrop of rural America. It is perfect for readers who believe in the magic of animals. It also appeals to those who appreciate the courage of kids and the timeless rhythm of life in the country.

📅 Mark your calendars—Chapter One begins Tuesday, June 17th!

Watch for the first of five exciting chapters. Enjoy this engaging short read as we count down to the first day of summer!

Join Benji, Oggy, Bruiser, and Jackie on their journey. They explore wild places where memories are made. Loyalty is tested, and legends are born.

This is only the beginning.

The story is growing, the trails are calling, and the dogs are ready!

Starting Tuesday June 17th, 2025!

Lost in the Forest: A Night of Mystery

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By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | 2025 Truth Endures©

2–3 minutes

The Night Hunt

It was a night like any other in the deep woods outside Willow Creek. Forty years ago—give or take—a man and his dog set off for one of their usual late-night hunts. The man, grizzled and silent, kissed his wife on the forehead and muttered something about a long run. She barely looked up from her sewing. She was accustomed to his absences. He needed to run beneath the moonlight with only a rifle and his hound for company. She didn’t ask where he went. He never said.

The forest swallowed them quickly. Trees leaned in like eavesdropping strangers, and the undergrowth whispered beneath their boots and paws. The dog was a wiry black mutt with a white streak down its spine. It caught the scent of something just beyond the bend. It bolted. The man, cursing but grinning, gave chase.

They ran deeper and deeper into the overgrown trail for what felt like miles until the land suddenly disappeared.

The dog reached the edge of the cliff first. It barked, wild and electric, then dove headlong into the dark.

The man reached the edge just in time to see nothing at all. No bark. No rustle. There is just silence and blackness below. Without hesitation—without fear—he followed.

And that’s where the story ends, at least in the world we know.

The man awoke beside his dog in another place—somewhere between dream and fog. The stars above were fixed in unfamiliar constellations, and the air hummed with a silence too perfect to be real. He stood, brushed off dust that wasn’t dust, and called out.

No echo returned.

For years—or was it minutes?—he and the dog wandered this pale mirror of the forest they once knew. Sometimes, they saw flickers of their old lives. His wife was crying at the hearth. His brother was digging through the old footlocker for the will. But they couldn’t speak, they couldn’t reach, they only watched.

The man no longer aged. The dog’s coat remained pristine. Together, they waited—for what, neither capable of saying.

Then, one night, they heard something rustling through the brush ahead. They walked a trail that hadn’t been there before. The dog tensed. The man raised his hand. A shape moved—slowly, purposefully.

It was another hunter. Rifle slung over his shoulder. Dog at his side. Eyes vacant. He looked familiar.

The man called out. The hunter looked through him, then walked past.

The dog growled, uneasy.

And from the darkness behind them, a second pair of footsteps began to follow. They had found the lost forest of hunters who had died without a place to go.

The Heartwarming Bond: My Three Childhood Dogs

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By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | 2025 Truth Endures©

By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | 2025 Truth Endures©

3–4 minutes

My Three Dogs

Growing up, we had dogs that made our lives richer in ways I’m still discovering today. There were three of them: a St. Bernard–Collie mix, a German Shepherd, and a Rat Terrier—Oggy, Bruiser, and Jackie.

These three would become my best friends throughout my childhood.

The first to arrive was Oggy. He was a big, playful dog who loved to wrestle in the front yard for hours. But more than anything, he was our guardian. Oggy knew his role: to watch over us. Every afternoon, he met us at the gate when the school bus dropped us off and escorted us home. No stranger ever approached our house without Oggy ensuring they had our blessing to be there.

Next came Jackie, a spry little hound named after a friend’s dog. Jackie quickly became our best mouser and a fierce snake fighter, teaming up with Oggy on countless backyard missions.

Finally, Bruiser joined the pack—a German Shepherd with a name tougher than his heart. Although Bruiser had been obedience-trained and sounded intimidating, he was naturally gentle and shy. But when it mattered, he showed real courage, standing shoulder to shoulder with Oggy and Jackie to guard our home.

By age 13, the three of them followed me everywhere. We hiked deep into the forests near my dad’s ranger station, trekking miles through wildland few others dared to explore. Jackie scouted ahead, flushing out surprises. Oggy stayed close, my sturdy shield. And Bruiser brought up the rear, quietly ensuring nothing came up behind us.

Looking back, I realize they created a cone of safety around me, a living circle of love and protection. Whether I was on foot, on horseback, or driving a tractor, my trio was always there. They were my constant companions through childhood adventures.

Sometimes, we’d stop at a fallen log and sit together. I would talk to them about my troubles—problems that seemed so large at 13—and they would listen in silence. When I stood up again, the issues felt either solved or less heavy.

We would set off again every afternoon after school unless I had work to do for my dad. If I did have chores, they stayed right by my side, enduring the labor with me.

When I turned 17, we lost Oggy. His arthritis had left him nearly unable to walk, and his eyes had gone cloudy. With love and sorrow, my dad had a veterinarian help him cross over to a better place.

Jackie passed a few years later while I was away from home, already carving my path in the world. And then, in 1984, Bruiser’s body gave out after a long struggle with an incurable skin condition. After months of holding on, my parents made the painful but loving decision to let him go.

Those three dogs had been with me through it all. They ran beside me along ridges. They chased waterfalls. They climbed cliffs to the highest points of the land. They sat with me as we watched the world stretch out for miles.

Jackie once fought off a copperhead snake. She suffered terrible bites that swelled her head to twice its size. Yet, she survived and came running with us again. Oggy and Bruiser learned to shadow me unseen while I rode horseback, quietly blocking any stranger who came too close. It wasn’t training. It was friendship—the kind that instinctively protects without being asked.

In the end, the pain became too much for them to bear. Love helped us let them go. It broke our hearts. I’m grateful my dad made those final decisions because, to me, they weren’t just dogs.

They were my most faithful friends, making my childhood a place of wonder, safety, and unconditional love.

COYOTES CAUSING TROUBLE IN METRO AREAS

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Groff Media 2024© Truth Endures IMDbPro

Presented by benandsteve.com By: Benjamin Groff II© 

A coyote is threatening our dog on our patio at our home in Arizona, and we have few options to deal with it. The overpopulation of coyotes is a continuing problem, and there is nothing city, county, or state officials say they can do. Now, coyotes bravely walk onto our patio during the evenings and have threatened our dogs. We have witnessed the challenges of other dogs in the neighborhood by pairs of coyotes. Knowing when the animals will try to pass through or how many will appear is challenging. It has become necessary to be present with our dogs whenever we let them out to take breaks in the yard for their safety. We carry sticks and poles to beat the coyotes away. Is there anything someone can do to stop these animals?

The overpopulation of coyotes in many metropolitan areas, including Arizona, California, and Nevada, is a severe issue. This poses a threat to our pets and disrupts the balance of the local ecosystem, leading to potential conflicts with humans and other wildlife.

  1. Immediate Steps to Protect Your Pet
  • Bring Pets Indoors: When a coyote is spotted nearby, the most effective action is immediately bringing pets inside. Never leave small pets, like dogs or cats, unattended outdoors, especially at night, as they are at high risk. This simple step can significantly reduce the chances of a coyote attack, giving you control over your pet’s safety.Make Noise: If you can do so safely, use loud noises to scare the coyote away. Yelling, clapping, or banging objects can be effective, as coyotes tend to be skittish around loud sounds.
  • Use Water or Bright Lights: If accessible, spray water or turn on outdoor lights to deter the coyote from staying near your property. Many coyotes dislike sudden light exposure or water splashes.

2. Long-Term Prevention Strategies

    • Secure Food Sources: Coyotes are drawn to food left outdoors, such as pet food, garbage, or bird feeders. Remove these attractants by keeping pet food indoors, securing trash bins, and cleaning up fallen fruit or food from patios.
    • Fence Your Yard: Installing a tall, solid fence (at least 6 feet high) with a roller at the top can prevent coyotes from jumping over. A ‘coyote roller’ is a simple yet effective device that one can add to the top of a fence. It consists of a PVC pipe or metal rod that spins freely, making it difficult for coyotes to gain a foothold. Use Coyote Repellents: Commercial coyote repellents around the yard. These products typically use strong odors to discourage coyotes from venturing too close.

    3. Legal and Ethical Considerations

      • Consult Arizona Wildlife Authorities: For ongoing issues, contacting local wildlife or animal control agencies can help address concerns about coyote activity. In Arizona, the Arizona Game and Fish Department offers guidance on wildlife management.

      4. Avoid Harmful Methods:

      In Arizona, using traps and poison to deal with coyotes is generally prohibited. These methods can pose risks to other wildlife, pets, and even humans, and their use can result in legal consequences. Exploring humane and safe alternatives when dealing with coyote issues is essential. Educate the Community

        Organizing neighborhood awareness of wildlife encounters is crucial in building a united approach to preventing conflicts with coyotes. Sharing best practices and staying alert about sightings will benefit other pet owners and encourage community-wide efforts to limit coyote activity. Educating the community can all play a part in keeping our pets and properties safe.

        Otis’ Second Chance

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        A Story By Benjamin Groff© Groff Media 2024© Truth Endures

        Despite the unbearable desert heat, Otis, a small white and tan dog with soft, sad eyes, bravely limped along the cracked streets of Mesa, Arizona. The sun beat down on him relentlessly, but he refused to give up. Abandoned on the outskirts of town, with nothing but the scorching pavement under his paws, every breath he took felt heavy, every step harder than the last.

        He didn’t understand why he’d been left. One minute, he was curling up in the backseat of a car, and the next, the door swung open, and he was pushed out, and the car was speeding away. Otis had waited by the side of the road, panting and confused, hoping they’d come back. But they never did.

        Days passed, and Otis grew weaker; the desert offered no relief, just endless heat. But fate wasn’t done with him yet.

        At a local rescue center, George and Henry, an older couple known for their kindness to animals, were sitting at home when they got a call. They hadn’t owned a dog since Shooter, their beloved companion, had passed away three years ago. Shooter had been their family, filling their lives with joy and unconditional love. But when they lost him, the grief was so deep they couldn’t imagine having another dog.

        Yet, the call they received from the rescue center had them thinking. Animal Control officers found the dog, who would be named Otis, wandering the streets, desperately needing a home. Could they come and see him?

        When George and Henry arrived at the shelter, they saw Otis—thin and weary but with a glimmer of hope in his eyes. It reminded them of Shooter, of how he looked at them when he needed comfort. Without a word, George knelt beside the dog, his hand gently resting on Otis’ head. Henry stood beside him, his heart swelling at the sight.

        Despite his weakness, Otis leaned into George’s touch, a silent acknowledgment that he was safe. In that moment, a bond was formed, strong and unbreakable. It was as if they had known each other for years, not just a few minutes.

        The decision to bring Otis home was not a difficult one. George and Henry knew Otis needed them, but they hadn’t realized how much they needed him. Losing Shooter had left a hole in their hearts, and while Otis could never replace him, he had a way of healing parts of them they hadn’t realized were still broken.

        Back at their home, Otis quickly settled in. George would joke that Otis had chosen them just as much as they had chosen him. The dog followed them everywhere, always by their side, as if he couldn’t believe his luck—he had found a family, a real home, where he would never get abandoned again.

        As the weeks went by, Otis grew stronger. His coat filled out, his energy returned, and he thrived under the love and care George and Henry gave him. They’d take him on long walks, though always in the early mornings or evenings to avoid the brutal Arizona sun. Otis loved their little garden, where he’d chase butterflies and curl up under the shade of a tree, a far cry from the harsh desert streets where his journey had started.

        For George and Henry, Otis brought life back into their home. The house felt warm again, filled with the sounds of paws on the floor and the happy panting of a dog that finally knew he was safe. They talked about Shooter often, his memory always present, but now there was a new energy and chapter that Otis had helped them begin. His joyous presence filled their home with warmth and happiness.

        Otis may have started his life alone, abandoned, and lost, but in George and Henry, he found something special—a family who had also been waiting for a second chance at love.

        In the cool evenings, as they sat on their porch with Otis at their feet, George would smile at Henry and say,

        “Shooter sent him to us, didn’t he?”

        And Henry, with a soft nod, would agree.

        “I think he did.”

        The End.

        ‘Jiggers’ Journey

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        A Story By: Benjamin Groff© Groff Media 2024© Truth Endures

        Jiggers, a scruffy little terrier mix, never thought he’d find himself alone on a dusty country road. He had always been a good dog, or so he thought, despite the odd quirks that seemed to annoy his last owner. Jiggers had a habit of wallowing in the grass until he was covered in bites from yard bugs, which made him scratch and twitch endlessly. His owner, frustrated by Jiggers’ seemingly strange behavior, finally decided he had enough. Without a second thought, he opened the car door, shoved Jiggers out, and drove away, leaving the confused dog staring after the disappearing taillights.

        Jiggers stood there for a while, his ears drooping as he tried to understand what had just happened. The sun was high, and the heat made the road shimmer like a mirage. Jiggers looked around, his nose twitching as he sniffed the unfamiliar air. He didn’t know where to go but knew he couldn’t stay there. He needed to find shelter before nightfall.

        Not too far ahead, Jiggers spotted a farm with a large red barn and a farmhouse nestled among fields of tall corn. His tail wagged with hope as he trotted toward the house, his paws kicking up small dust clouds. The farmhouse looked like a safe place; maybe someone there would be kind enough to give him food and a place to sleep.

        As he approached the porch, a heavyset woman with an apron tied around her waist stepped out of the house. 

        Jiggers wagged his tail even harder, hoping to win her with his best puppy-dog eyes. But the woman’s face twisted into a scowl before he could even reach the steps. She grabbed a pan of water on the porch and hurled it at him, the cold liquid splashing across his fur.

        “Get out of here, you mangy mutt!” 

        she shouted, her voice harsh and unforgiving.

        The woman’s cruel act left Jiggers shaken and confused. He couldn’t understand why she was so mean. All he wanted was a little kindness, but it seemed that wasn’t something he would find at the farm. The injustice of it all was palpable.

        With his spirits dampened, Jiggers kept moving, his legs growing tired as the day wore on. He followed the road, unsure where it would lead him but knowing he had to keep going. After what felt like hours, he heard the sounds of children laughing and playing. His ears perked up, and he quickened his pace, thinking the kids would be friendly.

        Jiggers rounded a bend and saw a small group of children playing in a yard. They were throwing a ball back and forth, their laughter filling the air. Jiggers barked happily and ran toward them, hoping they would let him join the fun. But as soon as the children saw him, they screamed and scattered in all directions. A stern-looking man came out of a nearby building, waving his arms and shouting.

        “Get out of here, dog! You’re not allowed on school grounds!”

        he yelled.

        Jiggers skidded to a halt, his tail tucking between his legs as he realized he wasn’t welcome there either. He didn’t understand what he had done wrong. He was trying to find a place where he could belong. But it seemed like everywhere he went, Jiggers got met with fear or anger.

        The sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the road. Jiggers was tired, hungry, and more than a little scared. He had been alone for five hours, and the world seemed much more significant and scarier than he had ever imagined. He remembered watching television with his last owner, seeing shows where animals were left out in the dark, facing all sorts of dangers. He didn’t want that to happen to him.

        Jiggers kept walking, his paws sore from the rough pavement. He didn’t know where he would sleep, but Jiggers knew he needed to find somewhere safe. As the last rays of sunlight faded and the sky changed to purple, Jiggers spotted a small, abandoned shed at the edge of a field. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.

        He squeezed through a gap in the door and curled up on a patch of dry straw in the corner. The shed was old and smelled musty, but it was quiet and hidden from the world outside. Jiggers rested his head on his paws and closed his eyes, trying to push away the sadness in his chest. He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but for now, he was safe, and that was enough.

        Jiggers may not have found a new home that day, but he hadn’t given up hope. He was being a dog, and sometimes, that was all he could do. 

        As he was about to drift off to sleep, a farmer entered the shed for a tool and saw Jiggers. The farmer was kind, got down on one knee, and called to the tired and frightened pup. Saying, –––

        “You will be quite the surprise for the Misses. She’s been mightly lonely since Beau passed away. It is like you just got handed to us. Can we call you Lucky?” 

        And, just like that, Jigger’s tail began wagging, and his life changed; plus, he went from being named for what someone thought was weird about him to what someone thought was the best thing in him!

        The farmer picked up Lucky, cuddled him in his arms and carried him to his truck and together they rode to a new home where his new life would be full of love and pampering.

        As you read his story, remember that you can make a difference in the lives of abandoned animals. Your support and care can improve their stories.

        The Heartwarming Story of Jello: From Community Beloved Dog to Honorary Mayor of Millbrook

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        Jello, a spirited dog with golden fur, floppy ears, and a tail that wagged like a metronome, lived in the quaint town of Millbrook. He was a free spirit, beloved by all, and a fixture of the community, embodying the warmth and unity of Millbrook.

        Jello had his routines. Every morning, he would trot to the bakery where Mrs. Thompson would have a fresh scone waiting for him. Then, he’d visit the school playground, where children would shower him with affection and sneak him bits of their lunches. Jello often spent afternoons lounging in the sun outside the library, where Mr. Caldwell would read to him from the latest novels. By evening, he would make his rounds at the town square, greeting everyone with a joyful bark before curling up under the big oak tree for the night. The community’s love for Jello was palpable, creating a sense of unity and togetherness.

        The townspeople adored Jello so much that someone humorously suggested nominating Jello for Mayor when the mayoral election came around. The idea quickly gained traction. “Who better to represent our town than Jello?” they said. “He’s loyal, kind, and brings everyone together.” And so, in an unprecedented turn of events, Jello’s name appeared on the ballot.

        As the election drew near, excitement buzzed through Millbrook. Posters of Jello, donning a makeshift mayoral sash, adorned shop windows and bulletin boards. The slogan “A Mayor Who Cares” echoed through the streets. But a week before the election, something terrible happened: Jello went missing.

        Panic spread like wildfire. Where could he be? The entire town, deeply concerned, rallied to search for him. Kids formed search parties, calling his name through the woods and fields. Shopkeepers closed early to join the search; even the local police were on high alert. There were flyers everywhere: ‘Missing: Jello. Our Town Hero. Please Help!’. The town’s reaction to Jello’s disappearance was a testament to their deep empathy and concern.

        As days passed with no sign of Jello, whispers of foul play began to circulate. The thought was too dreadful to bear, but the town’s unity shone through their worry. They held candlelight vigils, their collective hope a beacon in the darkness, a testament to their resilience and unity.

        On the eve of the election, a familiar bark echoed through the town square just as hope was waning. It was Jello, looking a bit dirty and tired but otherwise unharmed. The townspeople greeted Jello with cheers and tears of joy. Mr. Caldwell, who had been leading a search party near the old mill, found him trapped in an abandoned shed, likely having chased a squirrel inside and gotten stuck.

        The town’s relief was palpable. Shopkeepers cleaned him up, fed him his favorite treats, and gave him more attention. Election day arrived, and with Jello safe and sound, the town celebrated their unusual but heartwarming choice for Mayor. After tallying the votes, it was no surprise that Jello won by a landslide. Although the title of Mayor was symbolic, the gesture embodied the spirit of Millbrook: a community united by love, kindness, and the belief that sometimes the best leaders remind us of the simple, unspoken bonds we share.

        Jello, the dog who roamed freely but belonged to everyone, was now the honorary Mayor of Millbrook. His tale became a cherished legend, reminding all who heard it of the power of community and the unexpected ways in which leaders can emerge.

        Until The End He Was A Pal

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        It was a lazy Sunday. We had been at the desert retreat. We had bought it and happily named it the Roads End Ranch. It is west of Phoenix, Arizona. The location was so remote. Cattle still stirred throughout the desert region. They crossed the roadways undeterred by speeding cars. These cars carried new homeowners to neighborhoods built further out of the city. Occasionally, you would see a dead cow with all fours extending straight up. It had fallen victim to a collision with someone from the big town. They were speeding over a hill at night. When we first moved to the Roads End, we brought our fearless terrier, “Buddie.” We built him a castle of a doghouse. It had access to an airconditioned tool building. He was all of ten pounds and fattened on hotdogs. He loved them and would fight the biggest opponent before him and win to get his. Earlier in the summer, Buddy appeared sluggish and started drooping.

        We thought he had been caught out in the heat. He had refused to take shelter in the tool shed. Instead, he wanted to fight with a ground squirrel that terrorized him daily. But the more we checked on him, the worse he got. We rushed him to a veterinarian, and testing began. They were baffled for two days. They not conclude what was wrong with this terror of the UPS driver. The little black attack dog would hide behind his favorite bush. He watched the driver unload the truck. Then he would rush up to the fence. He raised Cain with a bark so fierce. It startled the driver every time. Buddie was in trouble. Finally, a phone call came. The Vet’s office tech informed us about Buddie’s test results. The results confirmed he had advanced Valley Fever. It can be deadly if not caught in time, and they were sorry. It had been due to the delay in returning test results. We met a few hours later at the Veterinary Office. We said our goodbyes to Buddie. He slowly went to sleep. We brought him home to the Roads End Ranch. We buried him in his favorite corner. This was the one he liked to catch the UPS man. After his passing, we were finished with the idea of having more pals. Losing him had just been too hard. Besides, we were taking care of Steve’s mother, and she was entering hospice and taking up all of our time. It was all we do to her.

        We took the best care of Steve’s mother, keeping her in our home through many ups and downs. Then, in June, she passed early one Sunday morning. It was quiet. Nothing was moving, not even our cat. It had been over a year since losing Buddie. And, now we were experiencing loss again. A month of memorials seemed to take place. We remembered her in Arizona. Then, we returned to Oklahoma to lay her to rest.

        Then, we came home. The house was empty. It was just the two of us and the cat, Blanche, a spade female, Siamese. We had brought her with us from the move when we left Wichita, Kansas following 9/11, nearly six years earlier. She only became vocal when something got on her nerves or when I talked to her. She would talk back to Steve if he yelled at her, they had a relationship like that. 

        A few months passed, and Steve suggested we drive to the South Phoenix animal shelter and look at dogs. He said we didn’t want to get one—just look to get out of the house. So we left. When arriving, we walked through the outdoor kennel area. There were so many dogs, all barking for attention—except for one. He was a hound dog. He looked pitiful. It was like he had lost his last best friend. He was moping over in a corner of his kennel. He was not excited to see anyone. Yet, he came to us. Steve asked if we take him for a walk, and the attendants provided a lead. The hound strolled around with us for ten minutes. He did not seem more excited than Eeyore from Winnie The Pooh.

        We leave the Roads End Ranch. During our walk with this dog, we decide to adopt an 80-pound, six-month-old American Fox Hound. We get him to our car and load him into the backseat. As both of us sit down up front, his head appears between the seats. He looks at the two of us. I asked Steve what are we calling him? We were listening to a song by an artist named Shooter Jennings, whom we both enjoyed. So, our dog found himself named Shooter at that point. We only put a little thought into it.  

        Shooter grew into a 120-pound dog, the most loyal hound a person ever asked for. He never made a mistake or mess in the house. He always strives to please us. His life was one of loyalty. He was a big scaredy-cat but the most excellent protector. He hated thunderstorms. He would only go out in the rain if you went with him. You had to hold an umbrella over him while he did his business. He’d keep it and refuse to go outside if you didn’t offer to take the umbrella. If you had a big juicy bone, you lay a towel down on the floor. Tell him to keep it on the towel. Not a piece of the bone would hit any other part of the floor. He stayed put. He was the perfect boy. He loved other people. Too much sometimes. Steve often accidentally tripped our home alarm. The local police department would arrive. That is when you realize naming your dog Shooter was not the best choice. The first time they were here, we yelled, “Shooter, get down!” The look on the officer’s face was priceless. We were using the wrong tone. It wasn’t how we should have been saying it. The officer asked if we were alone and if we were okay. Are you being threatened?

        We had to explain that was the dog’s name. We had to go through the whole dog licensing explanation. Fortunately, I had photo identifications made of ‘Shooter’. I offer them, which brought fun to the moment. After that incident, I took action to make sure the 911 center had a note. It stated that a dog named Shooter lived at our location. They should expect to hear us yelling commands at him because he loves everybody. “Shooter” lived until the age of 14. One summer, a micro-burst struck and tore the roof off our home. During the process, we were reduced to living out of one room of our home while it was under repair. “Shooter” had been showing signs of slowing down. We had been concerned we would find him gone some morning, but he was always there to greet us.

        While the house was under construction, “Shooter” seemed worse. We called a veterinarian to come to our home. He not be there until the next day because of the damage. That evening, his breathing became labored, and we cuddled with him, holding our pal. He raised his head, let out two last whines, and died. Our “Shooter-boy” was gone. He had been our best friend and closest family member many times. He was filling in for the loss of others who passed. He taught us how to love and be brave during thunderstorms. In the end, I believe he showed us how even to die.

        “Shooter”

        Today we have Otis. A Jack Russell Terrier. We describe him as a terror. He is a character. And a handful at times. He keeps us busy. Wanting to play, and running in and out of the house. He is very protective of his home. We have to put him in a safe area when we have company. He needs time to adjust to new people being inside. We wait to see what is up with him each day. Never knowing what he will do next.

        “OTIS”

        Otis is named after the drunk on the Andy Griffith show. This is mainly because when we went to adopt him, he escaped from the shelter. Four people were chasing him around the parking lot and buildings. He finally was captured. And placed in a holding cell. We couldn’t help but love his innocent look he had after his little run from the law. He has an attitude. He will growl when he has had enough of you. Telling you to let him be. If you notice not any single one of our dogs have a single thing in common. Except that they were rescued from animal shelters. And they live a full and happy life.

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