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He is not the best dog in the world. On a warm summer night when his friends are dashing through the tall grass, running for the creek, heading for the deep cool water, he will not heed my request to stop and return. On a winter afternoon, he will follow a squirrel into the woods despite my lectures and sighs. He frequently confuses pizza with the pizza man, not realizing that when the pizza man goes, this means that some pizza has been deposited behind for all to enjoy. In the morning if it’s time for breakfast he will put his snout on the edge of the bed and breathe heavily, barely daring to whine, but wondering how long he can be expected to take this torture.
His tricks are few; he looks stupid in costumes and he barks too much when he has something to say. He is not the best dog in the world. Just the finest. |