"Indiana Bones" 1991-2006

We took Indy to the vet yesterday. It seems that she had a tumor in her bladder and it had progressed too far to treat. She never came home.

So, now we have a small void in the pack - one less canine body on the floor of the cabin in front of the fire, an unused food dish on the deck, an empty space next to Max on the back seat of the Vanagon.

She had a lot of "personality". When she was a puppy, she had only two energy levels - she was either in constant motion or unconscious. If she was moving and you managed to hold her still for a few seconds, she would crash.

She was very "talkative" - she made all sorts of hard-to-describe sounds as if she were trying to tell you what she wanted from you - as if we didn't know: "biscuits", "chow", "chewstick" or "walk" (which, by the way, she would recognize if you tried to spell it so she wouldn't get too excited about going for one).

She loved to chase sticks - especially if you threw them in the water for her. After a few trips to the beach, she even recognized the phrase "high tide" and would start barking with anticipation.

She didn't particularly welcome the other pets. She eventually got used to Max and played with her and even slept next to her. She even let the cats come near her, although she might still growl if they got too close. She never really got use to Bear or Sadie, the two most recent additions to the pack.

I think Indy's idea of heaven is where she is the only pet in the family... They let her eat whenever she wants. They take her swimming and throw lots of sticks for her. She has the whole back seat of the van to herself. Whenever the car goes through a drive-thru, dog biscuits are forthcoming. All in all, she was a good dog and I hope that's the kind of doggie heaven she finds.