A few weeks ago, Amber and I took out for the Fayetteville farmer's market. As usual, when any number of Fayettevillians congregate in any given spot for any period of time, the Fayetteville animal shelter shows up to "walk" the adoptable dogs. Of course, this is to say that they really show up to emotionally manipulate the good Fayettevillians to adopt a new buddy before the executioner sings. (There are some forms of manipulation that seem inherently good). In any event, on that fateful Saturday, Amber and I crossed paths with our very good and decent friend Colin, who was walking what seemed to be a very good and decent dog named Konrad. We immediately fell in love with the old boy--Konrad that is--and a few days later Amber surprised the family by bringing him home. Konrad has turned out to be one fine dog. In fact, I call him "a most satisfactory dog." Today, I'm sharing a few words about my new friend.
I'm sorry, Konrad, that we brought you home in such a state of disrepair (what with the surgery that occurred to your hindquaters, the eunuchizing that is supposed to domesticate you), and that you have to maintain a low profile for a few days, slinking slowly across the carpet so that your stitches stay intact (because there ain't no dehissing like a old-fashioined dog dehissing), but worry not, Comrade because it won't be like this forever; no, next week we'll learn to fetch rubber ducks, and maybe you'll stand straight-spined, cocked-foot at the morning rabbits who are bound and determined to eat my bush-beans to death (after all, your forebarkers were pointers and all), or instead, maybe you'll just run on and on and on because that's what good dogs do. I'll stand in the side yard and laugh, yelling "run on Konrad. Run on
Every boy needs a dog and every dog needs a boy.