Once there was a dog name Johnny. He was my third child.  My third son. The good son. The one who actually listened to his mother. John had golden blonde hair and big brown eyes…just like my other two sons.  Only his were fringed heavily and were always focused on mine whenever I spoke. If I cried – even if just from a sad movie -he’d make a place on my lap to comfort me, sighing heavily as if to indicate he could relate to my sadness. 

 Johnny came into our family on my oldest son’s 10th birthday when all he wanted in the entire world was a dog.  His father and I had grown up with dogs and often spoke of adding another to our lives.  But with two young children and careers that took up far more time than we had to give, there simply did not seem to be room for a dog to care for as well.  But oh how our son begged. Oh what a great case he made for the opportunity to learn responsibility.  He was just too bright for our argument.

Sometimes it is good to be wrong.  This was one of those times.  Johnny came to us in need of a home and looking more like a Golden Retriever than most pure bred Goldens ever do.  Testimony to his questionable lineage lived in his left ear which stuck straight up at all times, the right one laying flat. This made Johnny seem ever alert and listening carefully. 


Filed under: Pets

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