Before coming here, Bud spent his entire life in Arkansas. He had never seen snow, or experienced the bitter cold winters of upstate New York. This week, the weather has finally begun to warm up, though not all that much.

But I see the change in Bud. This morning, he waded into the pond at the foot of the pasture, he spotted his first fish and went after it, it will be interesting to see what happens when the frogs emerge.

Bud loves the country, he loves being out doors in the warmer weather, and he loves the farm. He barks at the sheep and pushes them around, annoys the donkeys, goes out exploring the edge of the woods every day, running alongside Fate as she races around the sheep.

When he is ready – cold or tired – he crawls under the pasture gate and goes and sits by the back door, waiting to be let in. From the first, I wanted him to be a farm dog, and that is what he is.

To the people who wrote me alarmed or angry messages cautioning me that he was too frail and fragile to be a farm dog, near animals or outdoors in less than perfect weather, I would say I am glad I gave him the chance to be a dog, he is in large measure getting the time and space and opportunity he deserves to live the life of a dog as much as is possible.

It’s gift to see him evolve from the time and shell-shocked, terrified creature that didn’t want to get off the truck in Brattleboro.

To the cruel man who owned him – he still has a terror of some confinements – you lost.