Growing up, we had a black lab named Tammy. This was in the late 1950's before the breed got really popular. When we walked her, people would go into the street to get away from her. In the neighborhood, people knew us as "the girls with the big black dog". She was 12 years old when put to sleep and I remember it was the first time I'd ever seen my dad cry. We still talk about her, even though she's been gone for nearly 38 years.
A few years after Tammy we got another black lab and named her Cricket. My sister and I took her to dog training classes. The dog would just sit there throughout the class and not do anything. We would work with her at home and she did OK, just didn't do anything in class week after week. We kept going, though. The last class was held like an obedience dog show. My sister and I showed up, dog in tow. Others in the class laughed and said we were wasting our time. Well, we came home with the first place trophy and blue ribbon. The rest of the class was totally PO'd
In December of 1992 I walked into a pet store just to look around and ended up walking out with a lab mix puppy.(actually a lab-german shepard-rottweiler mix) She came from a litter of 16. I named her Mariah (not for the singer, but from the song "and they call the wind Mariah") I swear, she's not a dog... she's a person in a little furry suit. Yes, she's now 14 years old. Mariah lived in the city all her life and once in a while would break loose and run. She ended up in puppy pound a few times.. I had to bail her out. The funny thing was, she would run to my parents' house which was a few blocks away from where I lived. She just wanted to visit them.
Oone time, my dad was sick and scheduled to have major surgery. A few months before the surgery, he had a tube put in his stomach for feeding. Dad asked me not to bring Mariah over for a visit because she would sometimes jump up on him and he didn't want the tube ripped out. So, I didn't bring her over. The week before the surgery in June, my dad went in for pre-op tests and my brother stayed at the house with Mariah. When we got back, I put Mariah on a leash and brought her over to my dad, thinking that being on a leash, she wouldn't jump up on him. Dad jumped out of his chair and said, "get that dog away from me!" then ran into the den, slamming the door shut. I felt terrible, and went into the kitchen where Mom was and told her what happened, thinking that I got Dad really upset. A few minutes later, Dad walked into the kitchen wearing the biggest, heaviest winter coat he had; it was zipped all the way up (remember, this was in June) and said to me, "OK, let her go!!" Mariah was jus so happy to finally see Dad. Funny thing was, when I brought Mariah by for a visit after Dad was home from the hospital, she wouldn't jump on him. She would just sit as close as she could next to his chair and Dad would scratch her ears. And they would sit side by side for hours.
Unfortunately, I no longer have her with me...I moved out of state in 2001 and Mariah was too old to make such a drastic change. My parents cared for her until my Dad passed away in 2005 and Mom moved out of the house. A friend now has her.