As a young girl, I heard stories about dogs we had when I was a baby. There was one that was super patient. When it got tired of me doing something it, it would put it's paw on my chest and sit me down. That dog jumped a fence and ran away... purportedly because it got tired of my baby ways.
There were others, but I do not remember them. I don't even remember any stories about them any more. They ran away or were lost, it seems. Always, it seemed they ran to get away from me.
Children tend to desire a pet. Someone to love them no matter what, they think. There is no real thought of or care about the time they require... the work necessary... children just want the pet for love. My siblings and I were no different.
After, I imagine, years of begging, my parents decided to get a labradore retreiver. And since my Dad was involved, it had to be a full-bred, registered dog. Nothing but the best, of course. He had visions of dog shows and a breeding program, I'm sure.
We got the puppy. A cute male that my Dad promptly named Memphis Jim Boy. We called him Jim or Jim Boy. But since it was going to be a show dog, in my Dad's imagination, it had to have a long name befitting a ribbon winner.
There was lots of admiring and cuddling with the puppy was very small. Eventually the newness wore off and our attentions moved elsewhere. My Mom ended up taking care of the dog more than our Dad or any of us children. And then she neared the time to deliver Ben. She was tired and unwilling to have to take care of that dog and a newborn as well as everything else she had to do.
It was still traumatic to have our dog torn from us... or, at least, it was for me. I may not have done well with it, but I sure did love it. But then, he was just gone.
There was one time (or maybe a few?) that I was trying to walk Jim Boy and couldn't control him... so I ended up dragging on the ground behind him. He was a strong pup! That’s one of my Dad’s favorite stories pertaining to that dog.