tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4031080477103832810.post7715173833762937059..comments2023-12-23T11:07:05.443-08:00Comments on Ed and Reub: ParalyzedKerryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15281288495129054688noreply@blogger.comBlogger6125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4031080477103832810.post-55228229087964969122009-05-20T18:30:14.561-07:002009-05-20T18:30:14.561-07:00Oh both Edward and I feel for poor Reub! What a b...Oh both Edward and I feel for poor Reub! What a blasted predicament to find oneself in. Those squirrels. Nothing but trouble.Pamela Terry and Edwardhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12746603636884819522noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4031080477103832810.post-36872017081028237632009-05-05T19:27:00.000-07:002009-05-05T19:27:00.000-07:00Hi Barry! Twenty dogs stopped by a bridge: now tha...Hi Barry! Twenty dogs stopped by a bridge: now that would be a good picture!Kerryhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15281288495129054688noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4031080477103832810.post-25520187128796056312009-05-04T12:42:00.000-07:002009-05-04T12:42:00.000-07:00Excellent story amazingly caught in photographs.
...Excellent story amazingly caught in photographs.<br /><br />It reminds me of a time early in my dogs life when we belonged to "puppy club", a Saturday morning dog walking group that used to range along the trails of the Rouge Valley. Taking a different trail one day brought us to a metal bridge that spanned the Rouge River.<br /><br />The bridge was a sturdy span for traffic composed to a metal mesh with holes maybe an inch in diameter between the grid.<br /><br />Not one of the twenty or so dogs would venture out onto the bridge. The took one look at all the holes and came to a screeching halt. <br /><br />With labs and shepherds among the dogs there was no way to carry them over. Crossing the bridge would have saved us about half an hours walk back to the cars. <br /><br />But there was no way and, I guess, the additional exercise didn't hurt us any.Barryhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13824632356834631279noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4031080477103832810.post-62333520049627697852009-05-02T16:00:00.000-07:002009-05-02T16:00:00.000-07:00I am afraid enough of heights that this would neve...I am afraid enough of heights that this would never happen to me, ever. I even let John be the one to walk out on the trestle to coax you back, Reub. Not that I don't love you. And Mary, I am really glad your dad (not me) was there for you!Kerryhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15281288495129054688noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4031080477103832810.post-86434201114394694352009-05-02T05:35:00.000-07:002009-05-02T05:35:00.000-07:00Reuben, I can sympathize. One time, when I was ju...Reuben, I can sympathize. One time, when I was just a little older than you, I was playing in the barn. I didn't smell a squirrel, but it looked like it would be a lot of fun to climb up onto those beams in the hayloft. My dad had to come and rescue me too.Marynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4031080477103832810.post-90027696114855378622009-04-30T20:23:00.000-07:002009-04-30T20:23:00.000-07:00I was following the scent of a squirrel. Do you no...I was following the scent of a squirrel. Do you not have any idea what that is like? It takes over, and you do not notice things like train tracks, railroad ties, big spaces that look down. Not at first anyway. But then I lost the scent for a second, my foot slipped...and oh. my. god.Reubenhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05314204420455732777noreply@blogger.com