Barney was my dog in college -- a rescue terrier from the street, and one of the many dogs that I have owned that was smarter than me.
Back when I was starving and living off of a sack of raw rye stashed in the corner of the micro-bio department (yes, for a month I was that poor), this dog was making out like a bandit.
I once ran into the lady who ran the grill in the Student Union.
"Is that your dog?" she asked me.
I avered that it was, and to prove it I ordered Barney into a 'down stay.'
"I love your dog," she said, patting him on the head. "I cook him a steak every night while you're upstairs working."
The puppy in this picture is a Welsh terrier, the first "Cambrian Right Stuff" owned by may parents. She died of old age and was replaced with another Cambrian Right Stuff, who was replaced by Pearl, one of my retired Jack Russells, who was replaced by Darwin, a rescue Jack Russell.
We measure life in dogs... or at least we do in our family. We have never not had terriers.
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