I needed a guard dog. The police were camping in my driveway to keep the stalker away and I had swore that I would borrow my cousins shotgun and kill the SOB. On the chief's recommendation, I found a young German Sheppard that might have fit the bill, but my young son fell in love with a month old Border Collie. This Border whom we named Gemstone, became my life line before long. A local police officer and dog trainer helped and soon Gemstone was known by everyone in the community for her noble purpose.
To prove her worth, the police stopped my car on a routine check, at eleven o'clock one summer evening. Two female officers came up from behind on either side of the car. Gemstone and I had been had been watching the officer on the right, while her partner came up on the left, unnoticed. The drivers side window was rolled down and she tapped the side of the car for attention. Without hesitation, Gemstone left the rear seat and went through the window. By the time I had turned my head, the dog had the officer down, flat on her back on the asphalt, teeth bared about six inches from the officer's neck. A very quick command had the dog back through the window and into the back seat. The second officer quickly came around and asked for pertinent papers. I remember thinking that they were going to throw away the keys this time. After returning to their cruiser, I happen to look in the rear view mirror and the officers were laughing. Unknown to me it turned out that Gemstone had been registered as a guard dog in the on-board computer system of the police car. The officers neglected to draw up my plate number before approaching the car. If they had, they would have known that the car was to be approached with caution. They were laughing at their error. I was stopped quite often after that, in the most unusual places, because one officer or another wanted to say "hi" to the dog, of all things.
I have a thousand and one interesting stories about her, but at eighteen years of age, Gemstone left me, sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor, holding her tightly, crying uncontrollably. She fought dying because she didn't want to leave her friend. For eighteen years, I lived in relative security. That was two years ago and here I am, writing with tears streaming down my cheeks.