I once had a dog named Birkin.

Actually, thats not true. His name was Birkin Hans. Not common, Id guess, to have a dog with a middle name.

The name Birkin comes from the character Rupert Birkin in a D.H. Lawrence novel. Lawrence is my favorite author, still I refuse to share the name of that particular novel. I have a good idea how some minds in Wallowa County work, and sharing that title might lead them to make an errant judgment as to who I am and what interests me.

The name Hans came from a personal friend who, like so many over time, Im no longer in contact with. Its not that we parted company on negative terms, but life has taken us along different paths.

Most likely, with the advent of the Internet, most specifically Facebook, a reunion would be easy to achieve. If our paths were to cross at some future date, I know Id benefit much. But until then, I take it on faith that were both busy in our separate worlds.

To say Birkin was unusual is an understatement. For starters, like no other dog Ive ever met, Birkins coloring was unique. Possibly weighing in at 55 pounds, Birkin was spotted like a fawn with the dominant color a mild chocolate brown with hundreds of maybe 2-circumference circular spots, implanted on that field of mild chocolate, colored darker chocolate.

Birkin was not keen on being left alone, isolated, or controlled in any way. I guess he would have been classified as a free spirit.

In three occasions, I left Birkin Hans alone, twice in houses and once in a garage, and on each occasion he smashed through windows to freedom without ever sustaining a scratch. Pretty cool, huh? I guess he was making a statement.

The garage thing, in my mind, was the most amazing. The only conceivable way Birkin could have smashed his way to freedom on that occasion would have been to climb to the roof of my parents car, and then make a daring plunge through a window not meant ever to be opened.

And then there was the time, while Birkin, Glen, and I were living near Bear Creek west of Wallowa, when Birkin performed another Houdini-type trick.

Wed tied him outside to a stout clothesline pole using a hefty chain, but Birkin cast an immediate veto to our best-laid scheme.

He not only broke loose, but came trotting into town dragging a long chain almost before wed arrived in town.

Other dogs Ive had, all with great hearts and souls, were Trinka, Masu, and Joy; the latter two still sharing their best in Spokane.

Trinka was a champion at catching and retrieving tennis balls, and on occasion I had to stop a friend from chucking tennis balls into Wallowa Lake, fearing my determined canine would drown before recanting on her retrieval passion. Too, when covering a half marathon near Spray with Trinka, she made a lasting impression by encountering a skunk while I was running alongside, and interviewing a runner.

Masu, a Sharpei/Black lab mix, barks up a big, protective storm, but never has injured a soul. Joy, in spite of being shot and left to survive on a garbage dump when she entered our lives, now is a lightning-quick three-legged, living representative of her name.

Marco Scutaro is the name of our cat. He was named one day before the baseball player with the same name knocked in the winning run in the final game of the 2012 World Series.

Jabberwock II columnist Rocky Wilson is a reporter for the Chieftain.