July 09, 2003
This is Bogie. He's displaying the look he gave me when he spotted me on the other side of the wire at the pound. I had gone to meet Dad for our weekly Sunday brunch at the local airport, where we could sit in the sun and watch the planes come and go. Afterward, we wandered around the airfield, checking out the warbirds parked on the tarmac.
After Dad hit the road back to L.A., I drove to the nearby animal shelter to see the few dogs visible through the fence when the facility was closed. I had wanted a dog for years, but a longtime apartment dweller, it never seemed to be possible. Now a homeowner, I was exploring the possibility of doing whatever the hell I liked in my house.
It's my house, dammit!
Anyhow, all the dogs in the dozen or so pens visible immediately set up a racket, howling and barking the moment I pulled into the parking lot.
Except for Bogie.
Who quietly looked at me, turned his back on me and sat down.
After a few minutes of me softly talking to him, he turned around and gave the look above.
Dammit! Not even in the house a month and I'm gonna get a dog. Turn around. Walk away. It's a new house. Ya don't need the headaches.
Then he lay down, crossed his paws, put his head down and looked at me thusly:
July 17 will be a year he's been my pal.