His enormously long tail (when he was a puppy I could carry in one hand, his tail was already fourteen inches long!) nearly touches the ground when he stands. But his tail is seldom down. Usually it’s held high, like his tall ears, waving its white tip like a flag as he bounds ahead of us in the woods. Howard calls him a trail rocket. But he always turns and waits for us to catch up. He invariably comes or waits when we call. He trusts that something good is always about to happen—because it’s true.
