Pete was a lively little Terrier, solid white. I don’t remember where he came from or when we got him. I do remember having great times with him. We had a lot in common; we liked to run and play, didn’t mind getting dirty, were picky eaters, were always too loud, and loved to be around friends.
However, there was a difference: Pete liked to work and I didn’t. I took advantage and showed Pete how to help me with my chores. Pete quickly learned to herd the chickens back into the chicken yard at the end of the day. He did it well. Each evening I stepped out the back door of the garage, slapped my leg and shouted “Shoo chickens!” That was Pete’s cue to action. He darted out to the back yard, barking wildly as he rounded up all the chickens. The chickens took it well. They didn’t seem to be afraid of Pete, though they did hustle themselves into the chicken yard. It was fun for me, too
I felt like a country girl. Pete had a great attitude about his work. When duty called he answered immediately. I admired that in Pete. No nap in the sun was ever too important to cut short if he was needed elsewhere.
Pete was my constant companion, as long as I was outside. Dogs were not allowed in our house. He slept in the garage or with me when I camped out in our backyard. He ran along beside me as I rode my big brother’s bicycle. Pete and I had a hideout under the house. There was plenty of space for play. When I discovered that spiders liked it under the house, too, we never went back.
I’ll tell you more about me and Pete next time.