by Paul Moores - age 13

I wanted a dog. Any kind. I didn't care, I just wanted one. It had happened three years ago when I was nine years old. I got a job working at a veterinary clinic. I cleaned out the cages and fed and watered the animals. I thought they were cute, yes, but I didn't want one very badly.

Then I saw Normandy. She was the prettiest Irish Setter I had ever set eyes on. She was Mr. Rumpford's dog. I didn't know Mr. Rumpford very well. He was a lonely widower and was not understood by the town's people.
Mr. Rumpford and I became very good friends. We talked about baseball, horses, and things that boys love to talk about. And of course, dogs.
We fished a lot together, too. Once while we were fishing, we started one of our regular talks about dogs.
"You want a dog, don't you, Dan?"
"Yes, sir. I would love one!" I said with enthusiasm.
"Well, you come on over tomorrow."
I couldn't wait. I didn't know what this was all about, but I almost popped with anticipation. When I got there the next day Mr. Rumpford was waiting for me in the barn.
"There's a surprise for you behind that door, Dan." Mr. Rumpford pointed to my right.
I was confused for a moment, then remembered that it was my birthday next Monday.
"Really? Thank you." I quickly walked across the dirt floor of the barn and opened the door.
It was dim in the room and I had to wait for my eyes to get accustomed to the dark. When they did, I saw a small lump in the corner under the hay that was strewn on the floor. It moved and a tousled little head appeared.
"A puppy!" I half screamed.
I flew over to it and cradled him in my arms. Smiling, I looked up at Mr. Rumpford. He was standing in the doorway, his Irish blue eyes laughing merrily.
"I thought you might like him. Now, what are you going to name him?"
I thought a moment. "I don't know." I looked down at the little head, and then I knew. "I'll name him Rumpford."