When I was a boy, we lived next door to a widow woman, Mrs. Thomas, who was loved by all. We kids did errands for her, and our fathers trimmed her hedge and mowed her lawn. She had a big back yard which was always available to us as a play area.
And she had an old brown dog named Brownie. We lived on a dead-end street, with low traffic, and Brownie had the run of the neighborhood. He was everybody’s friend, and welcome everywhere.
If you were feeling blue, and sitting on the steps, moping, somehow Brownie always found you and would sit down beside you to keep you company–and before long, you felt… better! He had a gift for that.
Yeah, I know, it’s a bygone era, blah-blah. But you know something? All these years later, I still love Brownie. Remembering him always brings light to the darkness of an evil age.
Every neighborhood should have a dog like Brownie.