On Dogs (Discovery for 8.29.09)
Good dogs are everything that humans hope to be, but never have quite achieved yet. When I think back on all my good dogs I had when I was a boy, I can't help getting a little bit sad. There was Arky, a little obese weiner dog my aunt in Arkansas gave me. He thought he was a big, ferocious dog, and would bare his teeth to anyone who threatened me. He sat right beside me when I propped my back against a tree to read a summer afternoon away. There was Fala, a white spitz I named after FDR and Eleanor's trusty dog. Every day Fala trotted out to Hoskins' Grocery where my bus let me off. Everyone on the school bus crowded to one side so they could see him sitting there patiently awaiting my arrival. When the bus screeched to a halt there he'd wag his tail--three thumps on the ground behind him--then jump up to walk home with me. Those were the two I had the longest, although there were others along the way. I miss them every single one. And now I have other dogs,