When I was a kid I always wanted a dog. Of course I couldn’t have one. My mum claimed to be allergic to dogs, but I think she was only fraid of them. My dad had a dog when he was a kid, and he wasn’t espescially enthusiastic about the idea either. I suspect he knew how much work it is, and that he would have to do most of it, seeing as I was only a little boy, and my mum was afraid of dogs. I eventually got two gold fish.
Not so long ago though, my ex-girlfriend decided to get a dog. Actually, we had planned on getting one together, but as fate would have it, she was the one that ended up with the dog. Technically, this was not my dog. But I spent nearly every day together with her, from she was a puppy until she grew many times her initial size. I even found her a name, Salto, which means somersault in Norwegian. And sometimes, in celebration of her name, she spun around the lawn and did tiny somersaults. Salto was the most fantastic dog I have ever met, a real heartbreaker.
Unfortunately, in all of life’s twists and turns, I moved to a different place, in fact, to a different continent. And my ex couldn’t cope with handling a dog on her own, trying to be social, remaking her home and have a full-time teacher’s job. So she gave my dog away to some nice people who love dogs. I got to visit Salto this summer, and while I was giving her a great hug, I made a promise to myself; I shall never lose my dog again.
