Cue the tiny little violins. Years ago, I was out of town and my then-wife decided to get a cutey-wooty little $1,000 black fluffball of puppy love. This creature turned into the most miserable piece of yappy vermin to ever have the unmitigated gall to be described as ‘dog’.
After my divorce, my dear, departed informed me she was also getting rid of the dog. For some reason, I snapped and, instead of doing the rational thing and replying, ‘What took ya so long?’, instead I replied, ‘He’s coming with me!’
Some inner voice spoke to me and said that if I could get this poor excuse of a life form whipped into shape, why then, I should be able to handle just about anything life was throwing my way. (Is there anything more important to survival than magical thinking?)
It took a year, but in the end, Ruaráigh truly became ‘man’s best friend.’ So much so that, over the years I’ve taken in dozens of abandoned Schipperkes, trained them and then sent them onto new homes. It seems that dogs like this get frequently bought, then tossed away when owners figure out that they didn’t know what they were getting themselves into. Sort of like certain marriages. 😀 But I digress.
Anyhoo. The little black dogs have been a consistent part of my life since I began making these albums. They’ve followed me on planes, trains, sailing boat adventures and five different places to live in six years. They are loyal, sure-footed on boats and a total blast if properly trained.
There’s a lesson in all this someplace.