When I was in grad school, my husband left the house to get some milk…and came home with an offer to get a dog. He was walking to the neighborhood grocery store, chatted with a woman, pet her dog, she said he was rescued and up for adoption and would husband like to adopt him, and that’s how we ended up with our first dog, Otis. We ended up being friends with that woman and her husband, too.
Years later my husband was dropping the kids off at school. The janitor asked if he’d like a puppy. Otis was getting on in years, so husband was interested. We all went out to the janitor’s farm and came home with both of the dogs in the litter. Otis died the following year, a loyal and grateful companion until the end. Those puppies are the two dogs we have now.
That’s on my mind because someone recently asked how we got our dogs. It occurred to me that all of our dogs came into our lives because my husband stopped to talk to people.
Just placing this here because he doesn’t have the best reputation on this blog, or in our memories these days. But he was a kind, caring man who slowed down to connect with people, and with dogs.