As I’ve mentioned, or maybe not, our family has always had dogs. One of my favourites, maybe THE fav, was Goober. He was a Weimaraner. Not a champion example of the breed; he was a bit too gangly, bit too sway in the back, ears too big, just not top in his breed.

But to me Goober was beautiful. He was a graceful, elegant soul. With wisdom and patience.

Weimaraners are –

a dog that was originally bred for hunting in the early 19th century. Early Weimaraners were used by royalty for hunting large game such as boar, bear, and deer. As the popularity of large game hunting began to decline, Weimaraners were used for hunting smaller animals like fowl, rabbits, and foxes. Weimaraners are great water dogs as evidenced by their webbed toes.

The Weimaraner is an all purpose gun dog. The name comes from the Grand Duke of Saxe-Weimar-Eisenach, Karl August, whose court, based in the city of Weimar (now in modern day Germany), enjoyed hunting. [WikiPedia]

Goober lived to a ripe old age, and even took the heat from Jinx, our Doberman, when she arrived on the scene. Took Jinx’s leadership in stride, but not before Jinx tried to beat the shit out of him.

Goober by then was too old for that nonsense. Jinx was young, not even two years yet and thinking she was all that and a bag of chips; and she was, comparison to poor Goober.

He was more of a lover than a fighter. One of Grandma’s good friends lived next door and they had a Collie. Beautiful dog, with long flowing locks. Goober and Goldie wrote love letters to each other and sent Valentines Cards every year. Grandma and Mrs. Reid would have just a jolly old kick out of that little love affair.

Goober every day would saunter over and visit Goldie, and they’d hang out together. Doing dog things, like sniffen each other’s rumps and all that fun doggy stuff.

He’d find lost souls, abandoned bunnies more often than not; Goober would “retrieve” them from their nests and than sit there looking down dejected until you came and rescued it and tried to help it – None ever lived through the night. Poor well-meanin’ Goober.

I just found this album up in the attic. It’s a real walk down memory lane, as this album is from 1969 – 1970 – which is when I first came up to Canada with Mom. When Mom first came home, back to Canada from North Carolina, she came home to this house.

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