This is Roscoe. He goes by many other names. He’s my Bubba, my Squishy, and also Gumby. He is a purebred Treeing Walker Coonhound. We got him from a prison dog program about nine years ago when he was about eight months old. The idea was that each prisoner (human not dog) was assigned a dog from the pound to train. The dogs lived with the inmates 24/7 and once they finished their training they were adopted out. We think Roscoe’s training just didn’t stick but he’s still a great baby. His trainer named him and what else would a dog from the slammer be named?
Tonight we got a bath. I say “we” because a lone 155 pound woman does not bathe a 100 pound dog in a bathtub and stay dry. Just doesn’t happen that way. He’s a good bather once you convince him that he needs to get in the tub.
He is an old man now and has old man problems. Stairs are a challenge as are his pesky younger sisters. He likes to sleep more now than he did when he was a puppy. But he’s still my baby boy.
He really isn’t aging well and that makes me sad. I’ll admit that I had a good cry with him tonight about it even. He just sat next to me and gave me hugs. Other dog owners will know that pups have a way to hug even if they don’t have arms. I love my Squishy.