Hank

Hank's life began unceremoniously, surrounded by a slew of siblings under the flaky boards of an old porch on Bay Street. The house closed up since the winter of 2003, was a quiet spot for this misfit litter of puppies, with tall shaggy grass and mice who were decent-enough neighbors.

As Hank grew, he timidly ventured out with his brothers and sisters, nipping at bumble bees dusting in the dandelions and getting more adventurous toward the brash seagulls down by the water. He was content with his life but also didn't know any better.

On a bright spring day, a man in tall rubber boots that smelled of Cod and salt water stomped up through the grass and knelt on the ground, offering Hank a little corner chunk of his tuna fish sandwich. Eager by all the new smells, Hank ran up quickly and gulped the bite down without even a chew. The man belted out a hearty laugh as he lifted him onto his lap, petting him with his calloused hand.

"Hey buddy, you look like you have pretty good sea legs! How about you come with me for some fishing?" With a quick glance back at his wide-eyed siblings peeking through the grass, Hank turned to lick the man's cheek and barked out a happy yap that in dog words meant, "Let's go!".

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[photograph by me - story fictional]