The Saga of Stupidface.

After establishing that Stupidface is indeed a Walker Coon Hound. I began on a Internet based journey of discovery. Mainly I discovered that that Walkers can travel up to 50 miles in one night. Stupidface could be from anywhere. Although why the owners would not have been calling all the vets offices in that radius and leaving a note, I have to wonder.

They probably dislike Stupidface as much as I do.

On some level I feel bad for her. She got lost, whether this was a deliberate thing on the part of the owners or not, she found somewhere that she wanted to stay, only to find that the new people have to keep her crated on the porch all the time or else she will go after their animals.

On the other hand she was so hyper it hurt to watch her.

Scott's overtures to keep her died when we realized that she is impossible to walk. She wants to be on that scent and nothing NOTHING will stop her. Not you, not the leash, not yelling or pleading, nothing. Scott had to carry her out the woods the last time he took her in and since then we only walked her in the fields.

I also learned that you need a six to eight foot tall fence in order to keep one in your yard. So ha ha that will never happen in a million years.

Luckily, we managed to get through to the local animal shelter who said they would take her. Unfortunately this is after she chewed through one of my leashes. As soon as they said they would take her Scott threw the phone down and ran out to the truck while I grabbed the one remaining leash and got Stupidface. We didn't even wait for her to get in the truck, instead Scott picked her up and tossed her into the cab.

We wanted to get her down there before they changed their minds.

While Scott was gone I began on the days tasks, cleaning the chicken coup and washing out the dog crate where we had Stupidface until I heard the sound of the truck pulling back into the drive. I peered around the corner of the shed, fearing that I was about to see her white and tan head poking up above the seat.

But she was gone.

Gone. Gone I tell you. After a week of barking and baying and yelling and chewing and peeing on things Miss I-have-never-been-trained was gone forever.

So once again silence reins on my little farm, except for the crowing of the roosters and the wind in the grasses.

So peaceful.

So dogless.