bierkergaard

Yesterday, while biking through Gettysburg's Battlefields, I crossed paths with a couple walking by who had a dog that essentially was an elongated Beagle. A different breed but the markings of a Beagle, a hound, with his tongue a-wagging. I stop for Beagles and their next-of-kin to pet them up a bit. It is a win-win. The dog gets some affection and I get my Beagle fill. My Dad kept going on his bike which caused us to have to meet back at the car because I lost his trail. I had a Beagle when a child. He was perhaps the most ADD and stupid dog I have ever known. But, Ol' Gus was lovable.  At least I thought so. While we were living in West Virginia, family lore has it that he got into a neighbor's garbage cans once too often and was shot. I remember him bleeding on the bathroom floor and my mom telling my older brother and I while we were in the back of the family Falcon automobile, that Gus had died from his wounds. At least he died doing something he loved. I still