Folks, meet Baron. He's our 7 month old Field Spaniel. Baron is a gem of a dog. He's lovable, mellow, goofy and has an infectious personality. On Saturday, March 28th Baron was hit by a car up in Maine where I was visiting my sister. The day before, I had attended the funeral of one of my college roommates. I consider both to be good friends. I almost said goodbye to two good friends on consecutive days.

Fortunately, through the wonderful service provided by the Portland Animal Emergency Clinic, Baron survived. The long term effects are not yet clear, but right now he's at home and getting stronger everyday. I'm no animal rights wacko, nor do I mean to imply that the loss of a dog is akin to the loss of a human, but to me, a friend is a friend. I've been tormented by thoughts of how this could have been avoided and, how it could have been much, much worse. I don't see canines as show dogs, hunting dogs, working dogs or guard dogs. For me, it's simple. Baron is my buddy.

Not everyone sees it that way. I have a friend who grew up in rural Arizona and he's a bit flummoxed by the lengths we easterners will go for our pets. I totally get this. Throughout history, man has had many different relationships with dogs. Most people think we picked dogs because we found them useful. Another theory suggests that they picked us...because WE could be useful. I subscribe to that theory.

Most people have never heard of a field spaniel. Some think that they are the original "spaniel" which spawned all the other breeds (Brittany, Springer, Water, Cocker, etc.). It's most likely that they were simply very big Cocker Spaniels. Apparently, they were bred into a very grotesque configuration which nobody wanted and were nearly extinct. In the early twentieth century, breeders worked on bringing back the more pleasing features of the breed. They definitely succeeded, but the breed is still far from popular. That's fine with me. He's my little secret.

In my own personal history, I've had some wonderful canine companions. They have given me some great stories through the years. There was Winslow, who looked like a lamb and never got over the loss of my mother; Charlie, who used to meet me at the train station (by himself) every evening, and Sam, who warded off depression and was my ambassador to a new life (and many, many other stories). When he was a pup, he fell through the ice on a pond chasing a duck. I fished him out to the applause of on-lookers. And that was only the start.

Rick, my old college buddy, gave me some great stories too. The night we proved too slick for the Selinsgrove cops, or when we decided to collect street signs or that ridiculous 4o+ year old 4 wood he kept (and used) in his golf bag. To protect the innocent, I can't mention the other stories.

Life is about stories. Stories come from friends...whether they be old college room mates or new dog buddies. And stories are what make history.

So I guess that's why I like history. It's the stories. Jimmy Buffet once said, "we do it for the stories we can tell." Amen Jimmy.