The first Flying Dog walked out of the woods, skin and bones and broken back leg, a few days after the airport opened. She enchanted local and transient pilots alike, and flew with us almost everywhere we went. That back leg never seemed to bother her once she figured out that somebody would lift her into the back seat. For the record, it never bothered her when she was chasing tennis balls either.
The second Flying Dog had big pawprints to fill. And did. Her specialty, or at least one of them, was reassuring nervous student pilots by convincing them to give her their snacks. She, too, claimed the back seat if we were flying, and thought airplanes were almost as cool as boats, just more accessible.
The third Flying Dog came along after the airplanes were only a memory, but if she'd had a chance to fly, it wouldn't have been in the back seat. She'd have been barnstorming right up front, doing barrel rolls across the sky and yelling "Go, Baby, Go!"
As you see, I got an early start. Tokyo, Japan
A few years later, I graduated to an actual camera instead of an empty case.
Albuquerque, New Mexico
Duxford, UK
A few more (well, a LOT more) years and considerable miles later, here I am. This is probably the last known photo of me, since I'm always the one behind the camera instead of in front of it.
Trust me, it's better that way.