When I was a child, we had one. She was Black with yellow eyes. I'm told that that's not a true purebred, something about an Argintinian import...but her mother was the brownish-greyish color they usually are. Her name was Freya, and she was the most incredible dog ever.
She was a friend and babysitter to all of us kids. Really! She knew where we were supposed to be, and made every effort to make us stay there. When I was 6, I ran away. I wanted to go to my friend's house because she had a pony. Well, Freya wouldn't leave my side! Dang dog followed me as I walked the busy country highway to my friend's house. She stayed outside the door when I went in to my friend's house and tried to bribe her with my best doll to let me stay...it didn't work. I got a ride home in a sheriff's car with the dog, and she was so nervous she stepped on my hat!
Mom swore that dog read the newspapers. She knew when bird season would start. She'd disappear. After a while hunters would drive up to our house and ask if they could borrow her. "Why?" my mon would ask. "She's not trained to hunt." And the hunters would claim that she was the best bird dog they had ever had. Many of these hunters would buy her pups...her boyfriend was a Lab from down the street!
But the day that deer season started, she wouldn't leave the yard!
Freya would escort us to the bus stop every morning and meet us there in the afternoon. She knew precisely when the Kindergarten bus would stop by, and also the bus that was bringing home the older children. We had the cushions from an old couch that we threw on the floor to sit on while we watched TV. We'd be all lined up, and Freya would be on one end. Freya got arthritic in her old age, so the cold floor was uncomfortable. So, she'd scoot over. Then we'd scoot over. Eventually she'd move all the kids off the cushions, and we'd be on the floor, and she's have a nice soft comfy place to lay!
My brother Alan was number 5 child of 6 of us (I was number 3). Freya slept under his crib from the day he came home from the hospital. When he was mobile, mom would put him on the floor of the baby's room and then go about her day. Freya would lie across the door so that he couldn't get out. When he started walking, she'd do the same thing. One day, she heard the screen door slam, and she went running. No dog, and no baby. She went out the front door in time to see Alan half way up the long driveway, being brought back by Freya. Freya had his arm in his mouth, and she was making sure he wasn't anywhere near the street. He was banging on her head with his fist saying "NO FREYA, NO!!" She didn't leave a mark on his arm, but I'll bet she had a headache!
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I don't know if all Weymerauners are as cool as she was, but I really hope so. She was a fantastic dog!
Kim R.