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Written by Stanley Pearlman, Jeff’s old dad and a guy who knows nothing about sports, but a bit about life.
So here I am with my wife, taking care of Jeff’s place and tending to his canine “Ferocious.” (The name has been changed to protect the pooch’s identity.)
I grew up with dogs and I absolutely love them. My earliest recollection was of a Pomeranian female mixed breed (really mostly mutt) that for some reason was never spayed. We were recovering from World War II and it simply may have been too expensive. Well at any rate, when she went into heat, we picked up the scent on our clothing and all the horny male dogs loved us.
One especially took a liking to my father, and would follow him wherever he went. The last straw was when he tried to board a bus, and the driver screamed at him for trying to bring on his pet. So the next day, when the dog was again waiting outside, my father (Jeff’s grandpa) put him into his old Chrysler and drove him to the opposite end of Brooklyn where he left him.
Three days later the dog was back in front of our house once more, waiting for my father, which all goes to prove that love has no bounds.