Maverick was our "free" blue heeler. He was a good boy, although slightly wall-eyed, and loved to go walking with us on the farm. He was pretty smart and could usually follow any examples you set. His only set back was his extreme affinity for affection. I mean, he really loved to be loved on, and he would pester the hound out of you until you petted him. He usually would be waiting on us whenever we pulled into the drive, whining with the pent up anticipation of getting to see us. One day Clint and I returned from town to an empty front step. We didn't think too much about it at the time only because sometimes he was still out scouting the neighborhood.
Later that night, around 11pm, Clint and I both got calls from a strange number, and i got a voicemail from a lady who had found our dog in front of our house. He was dead, run over earlier in the day before we ever got home. At least she had the decency to tell us he was there, even if the person who ran him over didn't. We buried him beside the storage building in a nice comfortable corner not too far from the house.
Here's where the story gets a bit murky, and not even we know all the details. The story goes that once in a while Maverick rises from his grave and hunts down the largest critter on the farm, and brings its dead body back to his grave. Maybe it's a peace offering to us for being such good owners, we don't really know, but we appreciate it all the same. Well, we thought we'd show you the first kill and the proof of this legend. This picture is legit, exactly how we found the biggest possum any of us have ever seen, right on top of Maverick's grave. I couldn't make this up if I tried.
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