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” ]