We had a litter of puppies in the spring of '99 that was never supposed to happen. Mom was going to be a hog dog and Dad was just a mutt from another pairing with a buddies female. We had 8 puppies to get rid of. Most had brindle coloring and when my wife went to Walmart to give them away after two trips we had on little white puppy with brindle patches on his head and a spot on his butt. Since going to try to give away one was a waste we decided to just find someone along the way to give him to. After the 947th time I walked into puppy poo in the kitchen because the kids had not locked him back in his cage I threatened to just give him a run way ride to the dairy. He met me at the door ready to go. Told my wife "I am taking the White one with me". He did not have a name yet, well I guess he did, but I did not know it yet. After the first day I was going to leave him at the dairy but he kept up with me all day, through milking, feeding, hospital herd.......when I parked the cart and headed for my pickup I put an old blanket in the back of the cart, it stayed parked in a shed behind the parlor, and a bowl of water by the door. But when I got to my truck he was right on my heel jumping on the running board. zHe had tunneled out under the door that quick. No yipping, no whining just stating "Let's go home". Figured what the hell and loaded him up. I remember telling him "Look you have to pull your own weight. I am not going to be lifting you in and out of this damn truck all the time" He soon got where if I would leave the door open he could hit the step and up into the floor by himself. So began our relationship. Every morning he would eat while I drank a cup of coffee and off to work we would go. He was just my running mate. No herding, well except for that damn goat, no real work on his part other than watching my back, and commandeering my lunch if I left it where he could get to it. The only time we were apart was when I would make calf runs. I would leave him home with the family. I always told him "Watch the house Whitey" and he would take a position on the front porch. Crys always told me he would only move if someone approached or to use the bathroom. We did eventually get the entire crapping in the kitchen problem sorted out. It is funny my electric meter guy would call "Hey is Whitey home?" If he was I would have Crys call him back with the reading. He and Whitey had one run in. He told me the thing that scared the crap out of him was that he never barked. Just a low rumble as he was headed for him full tilt. Guy dove into the back of Crys's car. Whitey just sat there waiting for him. The other dogs eventually caught on and started raising a fuss to alert Crys something was up. That was Whitey in a nutshell though. Acta non Verba. He would have no idea what that meant but it is how he lived. No flash, no bravado, just do the job. After everything was calmed down he would usually go check on the kids. My Father and Whitey never got along. They would tolerate each other. He nipped Dad one time, Dad's fault, but when he went to get on to him he treed Dad in a big old oak out by herd 3. I never would have guessed he could climb a tree, but with the proper motivation he turned part monkey. Oh he was hot, and wanted Whitey put down, or at least muzzled but when I finally got the entire story Whitey was acting in self defense. Through the years he would tolerate people so long as I was there. Maybe that is why we bonded the way we did. Neither of us had much use for people. And it showed in the mailmen, gas man, meter reader, dog catchers, friends, family he would eventually put on notice that he was watching my family. Trespassers would be dealt with. Whitey has trained two generations of dogs on defending this home and family. When we first moved to Tennessee there were a couple bullmastiffs guy down the street refused to keep on his property. He had buffaloed the neighborhood into believing since they were so big and bad best to just let them wander where they wished. Not gonna fly with Whitey. They may have had my brother on the ropes before I jumped in, but he was still in the fight giving as good as he got. We both carried some scars out of that battle, but we were still on this side of the dirt. And the neighborhood learned that fence on my property was for their protection, not Whitey's. Sienna recovered from her injuries but Whitey became super protective of her. She could not go outside without him, or he would light into her. This Christmas Whitey spent the day at my feet. As I helped the grandkids assemble toys, install batteries, maybe ensure the remote control truck functioned properly WHitey remained right by my side. I figured it was a lot of commotion, and he was just being Whitey. Crys called me on Thursday saying Whitey would not eat. She took him to the vet and the diagnosis was old age. After I got done yelling the second vet said it was probably congestive heart failure, or cushing's (who knew dogs could get that?) he had a growth on his neck that was swelling rapidly. His stomach bloated, and he could barely walk. When I got home I would carry my brother out to use the restroom, and we were working on trying to treat him. I know people kept saying to end it. But they did not see my brother fight to stand and walk to me when I came home. They did not feel the weight he leaned into me when I gave him a hug. I told him "As long as you want to fight I am with you buddy." Yesterday morning he waddled out and put his head on my leg. Then he walked to the front door. I was impressed and thought we may have dodged another bullet. There have been several times in his life where illness or injury seemed sure to take him from me. Every Time we fought with all we had and won. Yesterday we lost. My brother laid down in the front yard and refused to move anymore. I called the vet after treats, food, even a fresh steak failed to get him to come inside. My brother passed at 1300. Goodbye Brother I shall see you in the hall.