Pepper was a strong-willed mini-Aussie who barked too much, but she greeted visitors and passers-by like long-lost friends and was beloved at her “camp,” the boarding facility with wading pools in two separate pens so the dogs could be grouped according to size and still have water to play in. My bills from the facility always began “sweet, playful Pepper…”
Pepper could be unruly, but she was smart. She mouthed more than most puppies, which was very annoying, but when she was old enough to understand how much we disliked this, she began filling her mouth with a toy whenever she approached us so that she couldn’t mouth [bite]. A working breed, she decided, quite on her own, that fetching the newspaper every morning would be her job, and she did this every day for years until our paper-lady got sick and the company switched to sending the paper by mail. And, unlike Nellie, the fierce [aloof] shiba inu, Pepper always came when called, happily, joyfully, delighted to be wanted. (And, unlike Nellie, she was submissive with other dogs and never started a fight.) We didn’t need a leash to walk her and used one only in a city or on busy roads.
Rocky was three when we got Pepper and quickly came to dislike her rambunctiousness, while gentle Max bonded with Pepper. But her real pal was my tough little angel Taz, who succeeded Max. Taz learned to provoke her into chasing him so he could steal her favorite chair or simply have fun. The two would race around and around the house like Little Black Sambo’s tigers. (Sorry if mentioning this once beloved children’s story is politically incorrect, but I can think of no better image.) I have no pictures of the two of them together because they never held still long enough.
Her walks regulated our day and kept the paths through our woods worn down. She kept errant beavers away from the stream near our house as well as predators who might have harmed the cats. Unfortunately, she didn’t distinguish between wildlife we enjoyed and wildlife we hoped to discourage, taking exception to the deer who frequently graze on our back field and even to large birds perched in trees or even flying low in the sky. But whether chasing squirrels or balls or coming when called, she ran like an antelope.
She had just completed her 11th year when her tightly wound little mind stopped working correctly. No one knew what was wrong, but long story packed into just two weeks: she was gone, an untimely and tragic Old Yeller ending.
To our crazy little princess: be peaceful, be happy and know you will always be loved.
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