My girlfriend had a yellow-haired German Shepherd by the name of Custer, nicknamed "Cussie", who was deathly afraid of thunder. One day when she was out sailing off the coast of Rhode Island, I became concerned because a storm came up & I knew she was out. I didn't have a key to her apt. so couldn't really do much except hope for the best. Usually she had to hold him under the covers, cowering in fear whenever thunder rolled along.

Didn't hear anything from her until about midnight, when I heard, "Cussie *sob* *sob* is missing. He's jumped out the second story window and we cannot find him anywhere!"

This brought us across the border from CT to RI, a few blocks away, where we began cruising the streets looking everywhere a scared dog might hide. We were sure that me must've been injured as it was a straight drop to a hard paved driveway from her fire escape, which he'd obviously barreled through, evidenced by the torn screen.

Finally, after being stopped by the small town cops wondering if we were some sort of perverts or buglars, my daughter and I spotted a dark shadow which moved under some steps of a school. Sure enough, it was poor ole Cussie, who could barely walk. We got him loaded in the car, called the vet, took him over, and my friend met us there. That poor dog had torn everything there was to tear in his front lower leg, BUT had somehow managed to not break one bone.

He was a willingly pathetic invalid, lapping up the attention and went on with a more than pronounced limp whenever anyone looked long after he had healed up...soft tissue damage, ya know?**BG**

He was such a wonderful dog except for that one quirk and hating to go down the wooden stairs when his mom wasn't around. His favourite *binkie* (toy) was a bowling pin he would carry around in his mouth. He also had nice, soft stuffed toys, but his Binkie was his Bud and went almost everywhere with him. He also knew how to pick up all of his toys and put them in his basket.

Oh, Cussie, you good dog, you, rest in peace, pal.

kat