A woman walked by with her Newfoundland dog while I waited for the bus this morning. It’s a 2 year old female, small for its age: 130 pounds (the dog, not the woman). A beautiful, friendly animal (the dog, not the woman, although she was nice too).
I quickly judged the dog’s temperament, seeing it was friendly, then said “Good morning” to the woman, asking about the dog’s age and name. A Newfoundland dog is tough as a rock, but friendly as you can imagine. I wanted to tackle it to the ground and play with it – a beautiful dog.
Funny that I’d want to know the dog’s name before the woman’s (I didn’t even ask her).
Greg just got a dog. A mix of this and that; a mutt, which I have no bias against: I’ve owned more than one. He brought it to our house on the weekend; like all puppies, it was cute and lovable, but I didn’t have an affinity toward it like I’ve had toward other dogs. Like people, some dogs I can relate to better than others. THAT’S RIGHT!
The first dog I personally owned (opposed to one my parents got when I lived with them) was from the SPCA in St. John’s, Newfoundland, where my girlfriend (now wife) volunteered. A cross between a beagle and lab, I think, he was a dog I immediately attached to: friendly, kind, gentle, intelligent… like me! Yeah.
We visited a Newfoundland dog breeder in New Glasgow about 10 years ago, as I described in a previous post. It was fun. If I was rich and lived in the country, it’s something I think I’d enjoy – raising dogs.