We own three rescue shelties as many of you already know. Rescue means they were given up by their owners for whatever reason and are in effect, in the pound so not only is this the only way we could afford one but it gives you that warm fuzzy feeling you get when you take an animal home from the shelter.
Oliver for example was a trade for fixing somebody's rototiller because he was too tall to show which is what his owner wanted and she couldn't afford the repair. Andrew was dumped by some vile breeder on a logging road outside Hilt with no collar or tags and loaded with ticks and burrs. His only 'fault' was he was a little fat.
And Tiffany is well, skitzy . . beautiful but emotionally challenged. She would not show well either but for behavior reasons.
Anyway, we walk them through the neighborhood regularly and we are both facinated at their ability, all three of them, to remember where each neighbor dog is. For instance, a neighbor up the street has a gorgeous Irish Setter named Katie. She is usually on a lead by his garage, lounging and watching the passers-by with her toys at hand.
But Ollie thinks she's fearsome. For yards before we reach the house he's pulling and 'yapping' (in quotes because he's de-barked). Also, she's 'there' even if she's not. Most times in other words, the garage is closed and she's gone with her owner somewhere. But Ollie doesn't buy this. She is there SOMEWHERE and he just KNOWS it. He anticipates that she is there / not-there fifty yards away and point his gaze directly at the garage, hoping perhaps that his intuition has not disappointed him. This is a lot like 'eyes left!' in the miltary.
He did (and continues to pull even now) the same thing at Ed Dallara's house on Hogan. Ed, who passed away some months ago, used to cruise the neighborhood with his walker giving out treats to all the dogs he met. If Ed saw us coming he'd open his garage to come out with the biscuits. He had many doggie friends who are very disappointed at his passing and Ollie is just one of them.
Ollie never forgot this man. Or his home. Or the biscuits. We still come to a tugging halt when we walk by his place, even though the garage is closed now.
The thing is THEY REMEMBER. Places where they were, places where nice people were. Why am I not surprised at this?
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