My family was never lucky in choosing a dog. The first one was a spaniel. My parents called it Baldo. The more he started to feel at home, the more he started to think that he was ‘the leader of the pack’. I remember the crucial day: Baldo was standing in attack-mode; growling dangerously and showing his teeth. On the other side the family; my dad in front of us, holding the kitchen-chair between him and the dog like a true lion-tamer. I don’t remember how it ended exactly; but it was Baldo’s last day in our house. Several years later suddenly Dinkey was there. A teckel. He only liked my mom. Taking him outside was a crime. He just didn’t want to move and you had to drag him over the pavement until the house was out of sight. That’s probably why they are so short-legged. When he finally understood that his resistance was senseless, he started to run; with me on the other end of the leash, to get home again as soon as possible. After a few years he started to suffer from a skin-disease. The worst part was his belly and a relatively large part of a teckel is belly. He almost got mad of the itching an bit his belly till it was bleeding. All medical attempts to cure him didn’t have any effect; so after a long struggle my parents took him to the veterinarian for an eternal sleep. Our last dog was a ‘Drentse patrijs’, called Jahro. He was the biggest one and made for chasing ducks. After I got seriously mad with him, when he bit me in a fingertip, he accepted me as his ‘dominant superior’ ;-). From that moment on he listened to everything I said. I loved to take him outside and let him off the leash in the Dutch Woods around Lochem. And he had the time of his life during those free moments; getting rid of all the energy that was stored in his muscles. Once he disappeared into a small pond in the garden of an ‘old peoples home’, chasing ducks that were swimming around there. Once in hunting mode he was totally focused and ignored every command of his ‘dominant superior’. The headmistress of the ‘old peoples home’ wanted me to jump into the pond to get him out; but I refused. Then she called the cops. Just after they arrived, Jahro finally understood that he was not capable of catching any duck and came out of the water. So I punished him and put him on the leash again. We didn’t get arrested and the old people behind the windows had had their most exciting day of the year. Months later he started to suffer from epileptic attacks. I still get tears in my eyes when I remember him, lying in his own urine; growling at the totally unknown things around him; including me. He lived on for a while; sneaking upstairs when he felt another attack coming up. I felt really sad when I got the message that he had died; one of my best friends. The shots of the trees, I posted lately, are along the track I always used to walk with him. So are the next shots.