Needless to say, we would never aim a gun at him any more than we would aim one at each other. But a broomstick or a hoe handle was like a gun to Old Scotch. When we aimed something at him, he wouldn't bite us to really tear us apart, but he would certainly bite hard enough to make us drop the object we were pointing at him. He would growl in a way that told us for sure that he would not allow anyone to point anything at him. Old Scotch saved us many a step and earned his keep many times over. We kept our milk-pen calves in the lot through the day. Then we kept our milk cows in the lot at night and let the calves run out to graze. Next morning we would tell Old Scotch to go get the calves and he would. He wouldn't get the horses nor the other cows--only the milk-pen calves. After we ate breakfast and did the morning chores and were ready to harness the horses for plowing, we would send Old Scotch after the horses and he would get only the horses, no cows nor calves. In the afternoon we would tell him to go get the milk cows and he would bring only the cows, no horses. When we called our dog, we didn't say, "Here, Scotch! Here, here, here." The word we used wasn't "here," it was "how." And no matter how far away he was, he would come immediately when he heard us call. He only paused long enough to make sure it was one of our family calling him and to get the direction from which the call came. And when he came to us, he didn't come walking nor trotting, but loping. And he didn't stop a few steps away nor lower his head and ears, nor did he approach with his tail down. He bounced right up beside us, full of life and gusto as if to ask, "Oh boy! What kind of excitement do you have planned for me this time?" It's a common thing to see a two-car family in the 1970's, but we were a two-car family as early as 1916. We still had the Reo and Papa bought a Big Six seven-passenger Buick touring car. Old Scotch knew that Buick by sound. Uncle Robert had a Little Six Buick that sounded almost like the Big Six. Our dog could recognize the sound of those Buicks a half-mile away. When other cars drove by along the road, Old Scotch would pay no attention to them. We had taught him not to chase cars. But when either of those Buicks came along, he would run out to greet it a quarter-mile away. He also accepted Robert as a personal friend as well as a friend to our family. Then one day Old Scotch didn't come when we called him. Nor did he come the next day. We had no idea where he had gone nor why. Of course, we kept hoping that some day he would return. But days became weeks and weeks became months and the dog was still missing. By this time we had given up all hope of ever seeing him again.