Dame is a noble title and the female equivalent of the honour of knighthood in the British honours system …” Wikipedia
As you know from last week’s blog post, we spent a few days at Dixie’s place two weeks ago. This past weekend, she came to spend four days with us while her people went off to celebrate a milestone birthday. (Don’t worry Spring, I won’t tell.)
I’d heard T and her friend G referring to Dixie as Dame Dixie so I looked it up. Wow, knighthood, that’s impressive. Admittedly, once I’d read that she was the equivalent of a knight, I was a bit intimidated by her coming to the farm. T and Nollind sometimes call us hillbillies and I was concerned that Dixie would find us too lowbrow for her taste. But, you know, she was as gracious as the Queen herself, never looking down her golden nose at us country boys. She even let me sleep in her throne-like bed, only using it herself on one occasion. In fact, she preferred to sleep on the floor or outside on the ground, like a commoner.
But, near royalty aside, do you want to know the thing that impressed me most about Dame Dixie? She has surpassed the life expectancy for her breed by three to four years, and that’s after a battle with canine lymphoma a few years ago! In fact, her final round of treatment was to “give her another few months” according to the vets. She is one tough dame.
Not that you need any more reasons to be impressed by this great lady, but I’ll give you one anyway. At fifteen, you might think she can’t walk very far, or quickly, or often. Ha! At home, she regularly has three walks per day so, out here on the farm, a morning walk got added to our daily schedule just to keep Dixie entertained. Did that slow her down at all when we went on our longer afternoon excursions? Not in the least! She seemed to float across the prairie with her lofty gait. T commented that, if she were a horse, she would have made a fantastic dressage prospect.
Are you impressed yet? Well, if not, I’ll give you her greatest attribute of all. She is one smart canine. She’s convinced the humans that she’s nearly deaf, gets away with murder because of it. When I take off on a flyer during one of our walks, I’m expected to come back when they call or, at the very least, look. Her? She just keeps trotting along in her chosen direction, seeming deaf to the human efforts to get her to return to the group. But I see that little smile.
I see in the calendar that we’re headed to Dixie’s place for a dinner on Easter weekend. No doubt she’ll run circles around us again.