Dogs have been a big part of my life. My first baby pictures feature a series of photos with Snowball, my aunt’s black (yes, Aunt Lois had a sense of humor) Cocker Spaniel. In those shots, Snowball has her tongue up my nose, in my ears and all round my mouth. (Ah, the long-ago days when the fear of germs didn’t rule our lives.) Judging from the pictures, I remained calm during Snowball’s onslaught.
How many dogs have I known by name? I stopped counting today at 40…the list is too long. I’ve known worthy dogs, wacko dogs, giant dogs and mini-dogs. My face has been kissed by dogs; my legs have been humped by dogs; and I, and my dogs, were bitten by “bad” dogs (I’ve already written about Shaggy). I still love dogs!
The last two canines in my life were Don Diego de Fontana (a pug) and The Hon. Brenda Catchpole (English bulldog). Since their “departures,” I miss their scent in my home. Over the years, I tried to identify the combination of aromas that comprised my dogs…
