He didn’t start out so lucky; he was a back yard dog. He would get loose sometimes and one day the mailman who loved dogs, who just happened to be my husband, brought him home. His name was Lucky. He was an expensive looking yellow lab; we couldn’t keep him so I took him back, and he went back to being a backyard dog. Then one day he disappeared from that backyard and reappeared in some kind hearted old man’s front yard. He was loose yet he didn’t seem inclined to go back home. The mailman who loved dogs brought him home again. This time for keeps. He changed his name to Buddy. Now the mailman is gone; all his other dogs are gone too. Buddy is an old dog now, at least in years. But his step is young. Every day he plays fetch on a grassy field near where we live. He fetches until he is panting hard. Then he allows me to come home. He won’t let me skip a single day. He does it all for me; he believes that I love to play fetch. But I know the truth: he is the luckiest dog in the world.
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