No one knows how she got her name. When Dad found her walking down the side of the highway, she only had the one tag with just the word Carol on it.
She hadn’t looked very good. It wasn’t just the matted fur and skin and bones from lack of food. Carol was an ugly dog.
But she was a special dog.
From the moment we took her in, she was ours.
Sure, we made every attempt to find her owner, but no one came to claim her.
She, on the other hand, claimed us right away.
Every morning when Mom let her in, Carol ran to jump on Willie’s bed.
And she’d walk us to the school bus stop every day before heading home where she would stay right by Dad’s side as he worked the farm.
At dinner time, she stood alert for any scraps Mom felt compelled to drop.
Saturday nights, when my dates didn’t turn out the way I’d hoped, Carol was always right by my side as I poured my heart and soul out into my journal.
Carol must have already been 12 or 13 when I moved away to college. By the time Willie left three years later, she was long into old age. No one really knew why she had lived so long until the day Dad was diagnosed with the big C word.
Through the short 6 months of his illness, Carol was glued to Dad’s bedside. It didn’t matter if Mom was dropping scraps in the kitchen or I was home writing away. Carol never left Dad’s side.
Two days after Dad’s service, our family of three had another burial. Willie dug the hole under Carol’s favorite shade tree out by the barns and we finally laid that special dog to rest.
This wonderful little dog house and shed were found in Williams, AZ. The property was built in the 1950s.