When I was a young boy we had a dog named Duke. Duke was an Irish Setter and a favorite hunting dog for my Grandfather and Uncles. Duke never had a license, but he was never picked up by the dog catcher. Every morning Duke would wander up town and hang around the back door of a local grocery store until the butcher would hand him a bone. This seemed to be a daily ritual and our yard was his favorite place to deposit them.
The grocer, undertaker and plumber up town were also hunters and many times they would borrow Duke and take him on their hunting ventures. If the dog catcher was on the prowl and Duke was up town, they would put out the word and one of them would hide Duke in the back room of their business until the coast was clear.
My sister and I would have fun playing with Duke and he was a great friend of all the kids in the neighborhood. But Duke's favorite pastime was laying in the sun on our front porch and taking his daily nap.
Duke was the same age as me and one day when I was only 13 years old, Duke wandered off. We weren't concerned because he always made a trip every day to see the butcher at the grocery store. He didn't return that day and I never saw Duke again. It was a very said time and the kids in the area and the store owners really missed seeing old Duke.

Rob