As an adult, I have never had a dog, having lived in dorm rooms, apartments, townhouses, and condos for the early part of my adult life, in which I might be permitted to have (or able to hide) a cat, but not a dog. I like dogs, although I don't suppose I'll ever have one, since my cats would not appreciate the introduction of a dog. The dog that I had growing up though, was named Wags. I think we got him about the same time that I was born, as he was always said to be the same age as me. He died at the age of eighteen, while I was away at college, so he was always there, while I was living in my parent's house. I'm fairly certain that Wags was a mutt because that's the kind of dog that most people had then, at least where I lived. I don't know much about dogs but here's a picture of one that looked quite a lot like Wags, only Wags had longer hair, I think. He was that color, too. Wags was a big dog, the kind who would let me ride on his back when I was really small. He was a very friendly dog to anyone in the family, or to anyone he knew, but I guess he didn't seem so friendly to strangers who came around, although I don't know of him ever biting anyone. I inherited a Grit route from my older brother. Grit is still published, only it is a rather expensive glossy monthly magazine now. Previously, it was a weekly newspaper for country people. The newsstand price was 25 cents then, although I delivered to regular subscribers each Saturday, for which I received 7 cents per customer. Since houses were at least a half mile apart, my Grit route was pretty long and, although I was related to most people on my Grit route, it included several people who I didn't know and maybe wasn't related to. Well, Wags always wanted to come with me on my Grit route. That would have been great, except that he would want to either fight or have sex with every other dog along the route, and not everyone found that to be acceptable. I would try all sorts of things to be able to deliver my papers without bring Wags along. Mom would hold him while I got started, but she couldn't hold him forever. Once I had been gone long enough that she figured I was out of sight, she'd let him go - and he'd go looking for me. I would deviate my route. I'd go through the woods sometimes rather than taking the road, and cross the river. Sometimes I walked, and at other times I was on my bicycle. Sometimes a relative would give me a ride for a ways. Often, I was able to complete the route without Wags finding me, but often he'd find me somewhere along the route. He knew my route. Sometimes he'd cut corners, going through the woods and crossing the river, and be waiting for me somewhere along the way, wet, full of thistles, and awfully proud of himself. I'll write more about Wags later.