Once upon a time I had two big ol’ white German Shepherds. One was big and beautiful and so sweet natured. He was a 125-pound lap dog. His best friend was our black cat and they slept together every night like two peas in a pod. He was also dumb as a doorknob. Sweet and funny, but dumb.
The other dog, the younger one, was not quite so beautiful. In fact he kinda looked a little feminine (we never said that to his face ’cause that would hurt his feelings), had a long skinny face and awkward lanky limbs. But he was the smartest dog I’ve ever known. He could open all of our childproof cabinets, take things out and put things back as if noone had ever been there. Until I actually caught him in the act I can’t tell you how many head scratching I-must-be-going-crazy moments he induced. He knew that out of all us, he was the smartest of the bunch. So he set himself up as our protector. He patrolled our house and property like it was his mission. When on high alert, he rarely made a peep, no low growling or audible warnings … but he stared with an intensity that made the hairs stand up on the back of your neck. I always felt safe with him around.