Ron and Hazel's 'Travels with Nuggie' travel blog

Hazel and Junior

Junior was my constant companion.

Nuggie guarded Junior's grave all afternoon.

Junior was my Pomeranian, a great little dog devoted completely to me, and I to him. I've forgotten his birthday, but Junior was about 5 years old, born right in my bedroom one afternoon, we didn't even know his mother was expecting.

One of 7 pups, Junior was the smallest, and the last one when his brothers and sisters found new homes with an ad in the local shopper newspaper. By then, I'd gotten attached to the little fellow, and he was soon following me everywhere, sitting by me when I worked on the computer, and jumping up to join me when I headed to bed.

I called him my "little buddy", and he really was.

Junior loved to ride in the motorhome, and the car, especially if we were going to the bank, where the auto bank teller would give him a dog biscuit. Pomeranians are known as "smiling dogs", and Junior could do that ear to ear, and when he wagged his tail, his entire body would wag, right up to his nose.

Junior would join Nuggie, our Cocker Spaniel, up on the wide dash of our motorhome as we headed down the road to a new adventure, and loved to go for a walk with me around the RV park at the end of the ride. In the afternoon, I would often announce that it was time for our "senior nap", and Junior and Nuggie would follow me into the motorhome bedroom, sometimes beating me there. If I could jump like that dog, I could leap over a house. In a couple of minutes, we'd all be sawing wood.

I would attach a light rope to Junior's collar when letting him out, but once in a while, he'd roar past me. Pomeranians can run like the wind, I could never catch him, and he would make a game out of it, letting me almost get him, and then he would streak around me, tongue hanging out, with that big doggie smile.

Junior got past me last weekend, just as a car was pulling out of our driveway. Seeing an opportunity to catch a ride to town, I suppose, Junior ran behind it, but as the car made a turn on to the road, Junior was run over. A miscalculation, a mistake, an accident. I rushed out, and Junior died in my arms.

I buried Junior by a big tree in our yard. Later, I looked out to see our Cocker Spaniel standing guard by the grave. Nuggie was there all afternoon, until it started to rain, and I convinced her to come inside.

It has been very quiet around here since then, we all miss Junior, and have taken this time to consider our own mortality.

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