dog

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Paganini the little poodle sits up in bed.

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Omar Little, at Grand Coulee Dam in Washington state.

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A woman and her dog, by Gordon Parks. New York, May 1943.

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Where's Momo? Andrew Knapp regularly posts photos of his border collie playing hide and seek in and around Sudbury, Ontario, a city 400 km north of Toronto that is still recovering from more than a century of nickel mining.

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He loves his dog, which we were told weighs 72 pounds. And he loves to ride his dog down the sidewalk on Rodman Street. You got a problem with that? 

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John Stein hasn't written us anything from Seattle, Washington, but he does have pictures to share of his dog, Omar Little.

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Richard Stein writes from Lower Hutt, New Zealand:
 
Our newest sheep, Little Fluffy Raincloud, at left in photo, was a gift from a friend of ours. We had three previously, Curly, Lari, and Mow, but Lari died recently of old age and is buried on our property, where she lived a full and happy life. Once your sheep have names, you cannot eat them. We need three sheep to keep the grass in our two paddocks. 
 
The photo below is of our dog, Sesame, who immigrated to New Zealand with us (she is almost 12 now), and Trapper, our New Zealand cat. Both animals regularly follow A. and me when I walk to work in the morning.
Posted by Ellen

John and Bonnie in Seattle have a new dog, a year-old Boston terrier they call Omar Little, in memory of the best of the bad guys on The Wire. If the dog is really like the character, then he'll only rob or kill other bad guys, and once a month he'll take his mother to church.

Posted by Ellen

Of the various dogs who've come to live with us over the years, only one–this one–was named Professor Brophy. We called her Professor for short. Professor was a dumpy-looking brown dog from the pound with big jaws and an unfortunate personality, to put it mildly; she snarled at people when they tried to come in the house and then snapped at their heels when they tried to leave.

You may ask why we invited such a beast into the family. Well, obviously, Professor was smart enough not to treat us as rudely as she treated outsiders. Maybe she did what she did because she cared for us and felt she had to protect us from dangerous intruders. Or maybe she really despised us right along with everybody else but realized she'd better suck up to us.

Whatever was going on in that professorial little dog brain, it kept us hopeful for a while. And mixed in with the trying times were some very, very nice days with Professor–such as this perfect summer afternoon up above treeline on Mount Washington. That's Professor Stein following along behind as Professor Brophy breaks trail; a good time was had by both.

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When this picture was taken, the Wiggin family had included Vera the dog for about two hours.