I was eight. My brother was ten. My mother loaded us in the car and took us for a bit of a drive, not telling us where we were going. And then, there we were. Like in a movie. Like out of a dream. At a dog shelter, the Bide A Wee Home Association in Wantagh, NY. Where she had decided it was time for us to get a dog. I don’t remember us begging her for one. We had had one years before, the ill-fated Barney who didn’t last long, and we knew well enough to “let sleeping dogs lie,” as they say, after that experience.

I still get chills thinking of that day. Of the way we walked up and down the row of cages until we spotted her, the little black, brown and white puppy that we would name Gin and that would be my constant companion for the next 10 years until I went away to college, and who would die an old and happy dog while I was there.

There are days in your life you remember vividly. Your wedding. When your babies are born. And you know what? The day you get a dog is right up there. Thanks, Mom.