It’s Tortilla Time| Hi I’m Tori and This is my Story

Sally is taking refuge from the fireworks in my Mum’s room. I’ve never met a dog so terrified of loud noises. This, however, is easily forgiven. She is the best dog in the world, and I, myself, am not overly fond of loud noises, either.

She occasionally wanders rooms to room, making sure that each member of the family is safe from the immediate danger that fireworks present. What an angel.

It has been almost nine years to the day that Sally and I were first introduced. In these nine years this dog has influenced my life beyond what I could have ever thought possible.

I was once an ignorant eight year old with no particular interest in dogs. However, upon Sally’s arrival this was quickly altered. She soon became my shadow, a furry minion, my constant follower. I felt safe under her watchful eye, almost untouchable to lurking dangers.

I dragged Sally along on my numerous adventures at the farm, though I doubt she would have objected otherwise. I soon deemed her my ‘adventure dog,’ and she quickly became the only soul brave enough to accompany me on my treks. We would plough through rugged brush, brave bitter snow storms, run through frigid streams, and not once did my Collie ever leave my side.

Now, nine years later, my faithful companion still has yet to leave my side.

I am convinced that there is a damn good reason dogs are considered man’s best friend. They possess a genuine loyalty that can be rivalled by no other. When my parents got divorced, Sally was one of the only constants I had when everything I knew in the world was rapidly changing. Sally brought me great solace through the most difficult time of my life.

Though quite unlike Lassie in reference to appearance, Sally is a remarkable representative of her breed. Sally comes from a long line of working dogs, as Collies originated as herders. It is rather unfortunate that breeders have grown increasingly concerned with appearance, a dog’s working ability becoming secondary. Though we never pursued herding with Sally, she was given the opportunity to act on her instincts once at the farm. We set Sally loose into a neighbouring cattle field, and much to our astonishment, she managed to herd the cattle into a neat circle with a gusto.

Sally was blessed with the benign gift of intelligence. Despite the fact that she had spent her early puppy days on a farm in rural Ontario, Sally was fully house trained in merely one day. Her exceptionally high train ability is the envy of anyone who comes in contact with her.

Seamus’ arrival has done little to alter our profound bond; he is merely another nuisance that we are forced to contend with every breathing moment of our existences. Though an irresistibly adorable nuisance at that.

It should come as no surprise that I continually refer to Sally as ‘the perfect dog.’ Sally is my idea of pure and utter perfection in a canine. There will never be another dog that will be remotely similar to her.

Here’s to another nine years together.

Yes, I am the kind of person that celebrates their dog’s birthday.

It has proved difficult to grasp the fact that Sally is nine years old.

Nine years old.

Nine years old.

It keeps reverberating in my mind. I was younger than that when we first acquired the dog.

They grow up so fast; one minute they’re an adolescent fluff ball chewing your hair and the next they’re off on their own, terrorizing passersby and sniffing canine genitalia.

I am beginning to grow weary of the constant snowfall.

And so is my most loyal canine.

I cannot say for sure what exactly this is.

My two little shits contemplating world domination.

The resident canines have fell ill due to an illness called kennel cough. It entails much coughing, as the name suggests. The dense one seems to have the worst of it.

He is receiving lots of TLC at this difficult time.

(He is not as fat as he appears in this particularly unflattering photograph)