I am working at my desk this morning, and Larry keeps scratching my foot.  It’s his way of telling me he wants me to pet him.  After I pet him a little, he keeps demanding more, and I keep petting him more.  Larry has no quit in him, he’s all Jack Russell.  And as I was petting him, I started laughing about Frank and my dog, Queenie.

When Frank was 16, he started dating my sister.  The first time he came over to pick her up on a date, my father left him sitting in the living room with our german shepherd, Queenie.  As he was patiently waiting for my sister to get ready [and I am certain that every minute felt like an hour], Queenie was fully expecting to be pet.  As Frank nervously pet her, Queenie would growl every time he would try to stop.  Watching him anxiously pet her without an end in sight and listening to her low guttural growl seems as real as if it happened yesterday.  I miss them both, but I still have the laughs.