Our family lived on a dead end street, and with the fathers off to work all day, there was hardly any traffic. Mostly it was kids riding bikes, roller-skating, playing kickball.
But sometimes you didn’t feel like playing, because something had made you sad, or thoughtful, and all you wanted to do was sit on the front steps.
And Old Brownie would be sure to find you, and sit down next to you, and by and by, you felt much better.
Brownie belonged to the widow next door, Mrs. Thomas, and she let him wander because he was wise enough not to leave our street, he never made any kind of trouble, and everybody loved him. I was kind of scared of dogs, but never of Brownie, even though he was as big as me. Any kid who was feeling blue could count on Old Brownie for sympathetic company.
I’d trade all the lawn mowers, weed whackers, and leaf-blowers in the world for ten more minutes with Old Brownie.