A pet prescription

He lay curled up in a filthy box at the back of the cattle shed with his six brothers and sisters. As we approached he yelped loudly and wagged his tail—and thus he chose us and we chose him. His mother was a working border collie, and the farmer disapproved of his becoming a “pet.” He grew up with us. He herded the chickens, tagged along on marches through the fields, waited for the school bus, ate titbits under the table, danced with us to the …