I spoke with my father this morning, and he elaborated on something from my post about Max, the dog I absolutely loved when I was a child.
So Max enjoyed our long walks, and he’d often tag along, bound from yard to yard, chase rabbits, bark at other dogs. He was a wonderful companion. Regrettably, his English language skills were not so terrific, and one day he followed us on a two-mile trek from our house to the Mahopac downtown (anyone from Mahopac would giggle at the term “downtown”). We urged Max to stay on Emerald Lane, because we were actually strolling to a rental car agency to pick up a vehicle (I don’t recall why). But Max, being Max, didn’t listen. He walked and walked and walked, and when we arrived at the agency Max sorta stood there, tongue out, wondering what came next.
Hence, we told Max to get into the car. But he refused. Like, wouldn’t budge. He was here for the walk, dammit. Ultimately, we sorta pushed him into the back seat, and Max reluctantly sat there as we returned to Emerald Lane to drop him off.
God, I miss that dog …
