I had a dog when I was a child. A Black Lab. She raised me. We went everywhere fearlessly, recklessly and playfully. We roamed South Central L.A., her running, me on bike, on scooter and on foot. We knew every short cut, every alley, every fruit tree, every place to see something wondrous.
She died when I became a young man.
I had a dog for sport when I was a young man. Another Lab. A great hunter, retriever, and water dog. I was taught to hunt at a young age and as a young man thought I was the best hunter of all. Thought I was invincible. The Lab knew otherwise. He kept me from making a fool of myself many, many times.
He died when I became a man.
I had a Rottweiller when I had a family. She helped my wife and I raise our kids. She was loyal, loving, strong and valiant. She fought off the things that go bump in the night. She protected her house and her family. She saw the children through their teens. She died the day my sister passed away from cancer. People said my sister must have gone to the hood side of heaven and needed our Rotty with her.
I don’t know about that, but I like the sound of it.
I’m now an old man. I bought a dog. A Brittany Spaniel. I told this dog that she would die with me.
I died. I don’t know what happened to the Brittany that sat with me through the weakness of age. I haven’t seen her since.
