DIGGY AND DADDY

Diggy was a stray, dirty, grouchy but smart mongrel.  He found the one vulnerable spot in our neighborhood - my husband.

George might have felt sorry for this skinny dog who was scared of brooms, feet, and people.  Who wouldn’t?  But the real reason he took him in on that rainy evening when the mutt huddled shivering against the sliding glass door, gazing at us at the dinner table, was that George admired perseverance – and that little guy didn’t know the meaning of the word “quit.”  His life depended on finding a human who would care for him. 

“Digweed,” as he was called by the neighborhood kids, snapped at everyone who came near him – except George.  He greeted George every day, wagging his tail gleefully at any kind word from the one person who had the final say about his future.  It was his one shot, and he put everything into it.

We adopted Diggy on that rainy evening.  Diggy had terrible manners, barking and biting feet.  In an attempt to calm him down, we neutered him.  (He didn’t know that was coming when he was buddying up to George.) 

Diggy’s manners never improved, but he maintained his nice warm home with us for thirteen years.  He was one determined little critter!