When about a year old, Budleigh was adopted from a shelter where he was called Bandit. All shelters name their dogs Bandit. No one knows why, but you can change it.
A genetically diverse dog, Budleigh probably is a cross between a terrier and a terrier, although not the same one. He’s very social, snuggles with people to the point of wearing them, kills without remorse, and has a “thing” about anyone trimming his nails.
Brisby, a schnoodle, is a cross between a German schnauzer and a French poodle, and thus is ever at odds with himself.
Accustomed to having our formerly alive terrier, Oxford, do all the thinking, Brisby has become an exemplary role model for Budleigh, firmly but patiently explaining that, “all of these bones are mine. The rest of the Earth is yours.”
Shown here is Brisby with his pile of bones. Oddly, we only bought him two of those, but Uncle Max has been missing for weeks. Hmmm…
While no longer an active member of our pack, the formerly alive terrier thing Oxford left his indelible mark on all of us – but mostly on me as tooth-shaped scars.
A young, scruffy thug who matured into a dignified, coldly ruthless mob leader lacking only a fedora and Miami tan, Oxford passed away to a kidney ailment. He’d have preferred withering under police machine gun fire in a Chicago alley.