About 7, 8 years ago, our friend Tammy Looney posted that a friend of hers had a dog for adoption. We contacted her friend Kim Ward, and after some pretty extensive questioning, she agreed we could take Celtic the Boston Terrier home.
We got him ostensibly as a pet for our granddaughter Ava, who lived with us with her mother until 2 years ago when they moved to an apartment.
He’s still officially Ava’s dog (and she visits us a couple of times a week) but Celtic actually picked my wife Gini Parsons as his “true owner”.
Gini’s mom hated “that dog”, as she put it when she moved in with us, often trying to force him outside (he’s an inside dog). Little by little she warmed up to him, eventually calling “our dog” then graduating to “my dog” (I don’t think she ever calls him by name).
Tonight, she took him away from Gini to hold him on her lap, and then almost angrily stated “This dog has been mine since I was a little girl” (she’s 81). When I pointed out that I don’t think Bostons live that long, she proudly announced “this one has”, then went into deep details about the day her parents brought him home for her.
We let her pet him and tell her stories…
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