Sometimes, describing a life as “blue” isn’t a bad thing. It certainly wasn’t in JetBlue’s case.
The Aussie, as I often referred to him, led quite a charmed life. My first dog to come from a breeder met us when he was 2 days old. My roommate, Susan, and I visited him weekly for 10 weeks, the age at which he was ready to come home. I have photos of Susan holding him in the palm of her hand, his mouth open in a wide, wide yawn (though even then, I think what he really was doing was trying to talk).
JetBlue was just a little bit spoiled. Like Fly, the puppy before him, JetBlue spent his first night at home in a crate. Unlike Fly, JetBlue never spent another night in a crate. He barked. And barked. We put him in the hall. Closed our bedroom doors. Put a blanket over the entire crate except for the end farthest from the bedrooms. (I really wanted him to stop barking. I did not want him to suffocate.) And still, my dreams that night were full of barking dogs. I wonder why … Click here to read full story