When I was a small boy Daddy would tell people that, “Frankie-boy loves puppy dogs better’n any boy I ever seen.” I’m sure there were many other boys who loved dogs as much as me but none ever loved them any better. When I was five years old my uncle gave me my first puppy. She was a white feist with black ears. I was used to playing with our G.I. dog, but he was everyone’s dog and getting old. This one was my very own and a puppy to boot. Daddy suggested Toby for her name.

I carried Toby around constantly, holding her against me with one arm while her lower body swung freely. She got so used to it that she would even sleep while I carried her. I still have a picture of me holding her like that. Everyone would yell at me when I nuzzled her head with my nose, but I did it anyway.