A couple summers ago, my wife’s aunt asked if we could dog-sit one of her canines for a fortnight. Thus began my crash course in Gordon setters.
An early riser, I’d take 4-year-old female “Vegas” for three-mile walk-runs at sunrise to beat the late June humidity. A rural gal who normally bounds freely in a huge, fenced-in enclosure, Vegas wasn’t thrilled with suburban leash work.
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