Growing up my father was in his 50’s. He was most likely a different person than the one my brothers grew up with (when he was in his 20’s.)
When I was about 7 or 8 years old, dad was working both as a full time minister and as a painter. Dad got hurt – hurting his back from a fall and was I believe due for some surgery. He promised he he would buy me a dog… and I think he was very concerned for me in case he died.
He was fine after surgery and lived up to his promise (as he always did) and got me a dog. I picked out this dog because it looked the most humble and scared:
Mom referred to the dog as a “mutt” and she was the one who named it… she named it Cocoa.
I had that dog even after we moved to Paradise, several years later. After she had puppies of her own, we gave them away and shortly thereafter she was put down (sickness I believe, but can’t quite remember.)