He was a great dog and a remembered dog. He died before I was born, and his was one of the stories told and re-told around the dining room table at Sunday dinners and holiday meals when the adults comfortably full, loosened their ties, drank their post- meal coffee, and smoked, laughed and chatted. We children listened and wiggled and sometimes lost our poise and sat under the table.
Those were good times. Don’t see them much anymore.
I remember those days. Very comforting for children.