Noah’s Dog

My older sister and her husband have four children; Katie, Noah, Nathan and Luke.  They are visiting my parents in the house I grew up in for the next few weeks.  Yesterday I took advantage of Skype and got to see my niece and nephews for the first time since Christmas; they really are beautiful children.  I made them an offer over broadband to let each of them name one of the dogs I have made it a habit to feed on my way home from the last bus stop in Sauk to my apartment at the college.  Noah seemed to be the most receptive to this idea.  Noah is an inventor first, an explorer second, an animal enthusiast third, and a soft, quiet soul.  He is a terrific young man.

And so, Noah I am addressing you now, say hello to your new Albanian stray.

You own him, you name him, and remember that your Uncle Brandon already named his dog Max, so that name is taken.  This little one first caught my attention about four weeks ago when Kreshnik hit him with the Land Rover.  A few weeks later, as the pack crowded around me for a piece of hot-dog, I noticed that this one hadn’t roused for the feeding.  I walked over to him woke him for some food.  I had to shew one of the larger dogs away with my steel-toed boot while he had a few bites.  Today he followed me for three blocks, well after the rest of the pack had abandoned the chase.

I wish I had a house, I would keep this one.  I would have a house full of animals by now.  Maybe one of these days your dad and you can come and visit this black and brown beauty with the pink tongue.