Photo credit: John McMurry, McMurry Studios.

 Once upon a time, there was a not-so-young couple who, for ten years, had planned to finish their basement. They talked, they pondered, they speculated, and they saved. Over the years, several messy projects happened, inherited stuff kept coming along, work or other things interfered. They wondered if it would ever get done!

They wanted a bar and a family room where they could have people over. She wanted a guest room, where their guests would be cozy during the winter months, vs. staying in a winterized RV.

And, of course a bathroom. If you look close, you can see me waving. Helloooo! Oops, I meant her. I had a tense lapse.

And her laundry was in there now too, a much handier place than where it originally began…now located behind the barn doors.

 Photo credit: John McMurry

Could they, would they, be able to come together with a vision for a space that worked for both of them?

She had a vision for it, as a warm, rustic space with a great deal of character and personality. She knew he would love it once it was done: they both loved rustic things, a casual style, and dog-friendly.

Because their life had pretty much gone to the dogs.

 

 Photo credit: John McMurry

While overall progress went smoothly, a few speed-bumps popped up here and there, as happens between two strong-willed, stubborn people. Finally, she assured him: “You’ll love it when it’s done, I promise.”

And he did. And does. Although there were parts of the construction process he didn’t like, such as procuring the barnwood from the 3 now extinct barns on her family’s farm.

Can you say, “Raccoon poop?”

Or constructing the concrete counter tops.

Construction seemed to take forever. Like watching a pot boil. But of course it’s one of life’s bittersweet ironies that the more you want something, the longer it takes. While progress was slow though, her vision never faltered. If anything, it only got better. Like fine wine.

“We need a name for it,” she said.

“Why?” he responded.

“To give it personality. To express US.” she answered.

“That’s a great idea!” he said.

“Oh.” he said. His needs were simple. He just wanted to drink beer there. 😀

And then one day, she knew what the name had to be.

They were advocates for those who couldn’t advocate for themselves. Because black dogs everywhere had a huge public relations problem.

Black dogs, particularly the large ones, are usually the last to get adopted. They linger in shelters and rescues everywhere, waiting, waiting, waiting. Is it because they are intimidating?  Mean to children and old people? We know they don’t photograph well, and their appearance is….well…simply generic.

You can read more about Black Dog Syndrome here.

This not-so-young couple had, of their own doing, assigned themselves the unofficial role of Champions for Black Dogs Everywhere.

 Photo credit: John McMurry

So it seemed perfectly fitting that their new basement bar should be named the…

Before they knew it, the bar was complete. Their friends began to come over. One friend gave her the coolest birthday gift ever! Their very own logo.

In a moment of inspiration, they had shirts made.

Inspired, she began to put together creative auction baskets and fundraising events for a local rescue, to help all homeless animals, not just the black ones they loved so much.

Her rescue roots run deep.

You see, every dog that she has ever had in her life, except for one, have been rescues. And every dog she has every had except for 2 have been black. Some came through the rescue, some through friends, some were simply roaming the road and she invited them to stay. And it was she who introduced and converted him to the plight of the Big Black Dog.

 

 

 

 

 

Since they both love rustic stuff, junk, Big Black Dogs, and beer, it was a no-brainer.

To this day, it is well-attended by black dogs. 😀

Photo credit: John McMurry

Friends have given them meaningful gifts, such as this painting of her parents’ old house done in reverse, behind glass…

Or the wonderful shadow box with ribbons from her great aunt and uncles’ years of raising hogs, showing them, and serving as judges at Fairs across the country.

Speaking of her great aunt:

 Each person who visits the Black Dog Saloon leaves their own mark…

Or fun memory.

And each dog who has gone over the Rainbow Bridge still has a place.

The Saloon is full of memories, gifts, sentimental things and attachments.

Yardsticks from businesses that no longer exist.

A grandfather clock which was handed down from Jimmy’s ancestors (his great-grandparents, I think).

 Beers and NASCAR-related gifts.

NASCAR memorabilia.

Most recently, a spring from a tractor seat that is 99% likely to have come from her dad’s old tractor.

There’s so much fun and quirkiness in the Black Dog Saloon it’s impossible to talk about it all. She jokes that they did exactly what she advises her clients not to do when they own a house. Because how can you put a price on it, and how would they ever leave it behind?

Most weekends find them hanging out in the Black Dog Saloon with black dogs and friends. Recently, after a hard afternoon working in the yard, he told her: “You owe me a drink!”

“I know this great little bar,” she said.

And that, my friends, is the tale of how the Black Dog Saloon came to be: a place that’s the most well known yet mysterious bar in Kirksville. 😀

Photo credit: John McMurry

If you’ve been there, what’s your favorite thing about the Black Dog Saloon?

Cheers, friends!