|I know. You are sick of people going on about their pooches. Countless words have been written about them. Cemeteries dedicated to them. You know some people love their dogs and some prefer them not to be around. You know it all and how fed up you must be to read about them.
But dogs are special with humans. Everyone’s dog is especially special.
MY dog is the speciallest of all.
Ever since my dad gave my dog Churro, whom I had in Arequipa, was my best friend, and spent hours every day getting lost in the Peruvian city or in the fields to my teacher who apparently fed him Butcher-fresh bones every day and had an enormous park in place of a garden where he could run free, and was also free to continue tormenting our brown Llama, Bibo (no, seriously, I am sure he did just that) and I was put on an air-plane (at 12) to start living with my Mum and sister in northern Italy, I would dream of having a dog again. I dreamt of Churro till I was at least 16, and that’s when I would occasionally bring a puppy home in the hopes my mum would allow me to keep him. She was right not to, of course, she knew me and knew that within 1 or 2 months I might be going off somewhere for a few months, and who would look after the dog?
My favourite puppy, for just about 5 hours, was Tequila, the German Shepherd. I tied a bandanna around his neck and god was he beautiful. I have no recollection as to who gave him to me and therefore to whom I gave it back, but he was wonderful.
Churro was a big black dog with white paws. A mongrel of course but big, and I loved him immensely. So I was left with this attraction for big dogs.
When I moved in with my now husband, within a month or so he had told me his friend, who had a great Dane and a long-haired German Shepherd, was giving away puppies. There couldn’t be a more perfect doggie and in fact we went and and came back, escorted by two of our friends, with this:
He has hurt his paw, so he’s a little under the weather now:
but he is nevertheless the most beautiful dog in the world