I love dogs. I've had a few great ones in my life, and I've been very lucky. A while back, Shelby and Dan's dogs were in my life, and the love was there.
For some reason, I keep thinking about a German Shepherd puppy that Beryl gave me when I was working in Carmel Valley, California, a few decades ago. I brought him back to my apartment in Oakland, and we were doing good.
Until a drunken girlfriend showed up one night when I wasn't home and threw him off my second-story deck. I heard him crying below when I walked through the door.
I gathered him up and held him in my arms all night. He recovered, and eventually I returned him to the Valley. I knew he wasn't safe at my place.
One day I went back to Beryl's house, and this sweet dog, now fully grown and big, recognized me the moment I walked through the door.
I had a great photo, which I've since lost, of him lying on top of me while I lounged in the sun on her back porch.
I couldn't take him back.
But we never forgot each other.
Excuse me while I cry.
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