Hank the Cowdog

I grew up in a family where a car ride meant dog breath in your face and there was always a dog under the table begging for scraps or at the back door waiting for you to get home from school. That mud puddle on fur is a smell of childhood. I missed it.

I mean, I know it’s just a dog. I know the actual baby parents in the crowd are laughing. But I also can’t shake the metaphor of that first step of building family. This is Hank. Don’t be fooled by the cute, he just puked (unchewed?!) kibble all over my couch.