"Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn, damn, DAMN."

I was in a BAD mood. Really bad. It was one of those things that just hooks onto your mind; a bait that's almost impossible to remove. My teeth were grinding against each other; the muscles of my maw were clenched tightly in a twisted mass.

Then I walked by this dog tied to a parking meter. He looked up at me and wagged his tail. The owner must have been in the convenience store nearby.

I reached down and patted his head. His tail kept wagging. Then he sat down and tilted his head to one side.

I knelt down and scrubbed behind one of his ears. His eyes shut and his tongue fell limp out of his mouth. Then he rolled over onto his back.

I gave his belly a good scratching. From the look on his face, he was in doggie heaven.

Then I realized that I was smiling. From the look on my face, I was in human heaven.

Writing this brings back memories of a dog my family used to have. Her name was Ginger and she was a black Pomeranian.

A Pomeranian is a toy dog, which means that even as an adult she would never grow taller than one foot (thirty centimeters).

When my Mom first got her, she sat in my Mom's purse with her tiny paws hanging out.

She was a frisky little one, always running underfoot and jumping up and down. If you as much as made eye contact with her, she'd hurry over to you with those big black puppy-dog eyes, begging for food, petting, or playing.

Ginger was always afraid of other cats; they'd hiss at her and she'd turn tail and scramble away. This was probably because most of the neighborhood cats were larger than her.

Then one day, while Ginger was standing besides me inside of our house, a cat wandered into our front yard. Ginger made her initial bark from behind a screened door gingerly (no pun intended).

Much to her surprise, the cat didn't hiss back. Instead, the cat ran away!

Ginger erupted into a fury of tiny barks, each more resounding than the last. I opened the screened door and Ginger gave chase for a few feet. The cat disappeared off the lawn, successfully vanquished by our canine protector.

Then Ginger trotted back into the house, head held high, proud and triumphant.

. . .

Have any dog stories?