I was a small tyke when we got
the brownish-yellow dog.
The question is why
because my dad didn't like dogs.
...
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My pleasure. I assume that it was my mothers idea to get (or keep) the dog. I wish I could remember more about it. One of those memories that almost slipped away.
A well-told tale and a sad one. I didn't understand what happened to the dog. Did the people in the grain truck steal him? Your last stanza is very poignant.