With a minimum of wrong turns (one), we soon found and got to our new destination, where our co-tenant opened the gate to let us through. I cut the engine and put paws to ground, where the dogs got down to business.

Jackson meets Fips

Rosco Meets Jackson

Fips greets Tasha

And so we all headed for a walk around the grounds, on soft, moist and gently undulating tree-lined paths. Everything here says "earth" and the terriers -- all three of them -- love it.



Jackson, who is a two-year old dachshund-terrier mix, runs around proving that his exuberance knoweth no end. I remark that Jackson will do Rosco some good in the weight control department. Fips, at the other end of the cycle, limps along... but his nose is as good (and certainly more seasoned) than any puppy's.

Does Fips know we are talking about his limping gait? He can hardly miss Jackson's gymnastic displays. Returning from the far side of the property, I remark that Fips looks like he's getting a little tuckered out. A little ways on, we come across some jumping hurdles. Fips, debates.....


And...he JUMPS! Proving that arthritis or not, Old Fuzzie still has plenty of spunk.

Rosco ponders .... but then decides there are better things to do and sniff.

At length we complete our survey of the premises which have clearly met with the Fuzzies' approval. And so we return to our new digs where I hang up the Holy Bone.

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