A dog was the catalyst for everything. For months, my son Andy had been pleading for one. The same thing is asked every day: “Dad, could we please, please get a dog?” I was on the verge of giving in to his unrelenting demands. However, he also needed to persuade my wife, Kelly.
After much discussion, my wife finally consented. “Okay, but only if it’s small and presentable,” she responded, staring me in the eye. We won’t be acquiring a huge, messy mutt.
I refrained from laughing. She did it that way. Everything had its place in the home where she grew up, and dogs were tidy, well-mannered tiny accents to an idyllic existence. Is that a Yorkie or a poodle? Yes. But a muddy, tough dog? Not at all.
There was a lot of howling and barking in the shelter. As we made our way down the rows of kennels, my son’s eyes glowed. He hopped from one to the next, hardly even glancing at the cute, cuddly dogs we were meant to be thinking about.

Then he came to a complete halt. The unkempt dog I had ever seen was in the kennel in front of us.