Telling Lassie Stories on A Friday Night

Life in a small town.  Where you can (if you wanted to) leave your house,  walk down tree-lined streets,  past 100 year old houses,  mosey through a stretch of “downtown,” cross over the canal bridge,  saunter down Main Street a ways before hanging a left onto the street whose formal name escapes me … but, which could easily be re-named Restaurant Row,  and, after all that walking,  you’d end up at Donnelly’s.

On a Friday night.

Telling Lassie stories as you sit at the bar.

Having run into the couple that sixteen years ago were your neighbors.  Who had NEVER had a dog together.  As a married couple.

Who brought home Jake.  Jake the black Labrador puppy who would grow up to be the Lassie-dog of all Labrador retrievers.  And they were clue-less about what that meant.

But. They loved him.  Who learned to like the water from a baby swimming pool that he stepped into when he was still just a puppy.

And who got to go fishing with the guys.

Who always had to carry the biggest stick (sometimes a branch) when he would take walks in the neighborhood with his humans.

With that jaunty step and happy tail; was that a twinkle in his eye?

Who caused an uproar in the neighborhood, one summer day, because he got a fish hook stuck in the lip of his mouth.

Who grew up to be a Gentle Giant.  A BIG Labrador retriever.  Who never met a stranger.

Who could have run for public office and won in a landslide.  Winning on the love-factor because you would just start smiling the minute you saw him.


The perfect and absolute best Wonder Dog.  [gplus count=”true” size=”Medium” ]



    • htkhp says

      I know – I miss him too. And he wasn’t even my dog! If we’re lucky, we all of us get that one (sometimes two) “lassie dog.” And, Jake really broke the mold on that one.

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