One of the unexpectedly pleasant things about moving to Onalaska is Ruby the dog; or maybe, Ruby the Dog.
Ruby is an old small short-hair of undetermined background. She has some pug in her, I think, and what looks like perhaps some pit bull, maybe.
She is a friend to all, and apparently belongs to no one, though for immunization purposes I suppose she can be considered to belong to a lady down the street. It's almost as if everyone in the neighborhood belongs to her, rather than someone owning her.
She wanders the neighborhood all day long at a casual trot, roaming from house to house; or rather, from snack to snack. In a neighborhood full of squirrels and birds she seems to evoke a, "live and let live" philosophy. She just leaves them alone. In fact, though we see her daily, sometimes several times a day, I've never heard her bark.
When we fish she can be counted on to trot out onto the dock and stay for awhile. Eventually, though, she turns around and, without a word, goes on her way in continuance of her appointed rounds.
When we take a stroll she can be counted on, if she sees us, to join us for as long as we walk. The other day we strolled over to the next neighborhood, and she kept a steady trot ahead of us. We got a good laugh out of her trotting through the bar ditch, slogging through the water. She'd run off into the woods, and then appear on the other side of the road.
On the way home she ran off across the Farm Road and into another neighborhood. About a quarter mile later she appeared behind us, tongue wagging, at her steady trot.
On another note, the wife made home made chicken fried steak and cream gravy tonight. I kid you not; it was so good I almost cried.
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