My dog, Prince was my best friend when I was eight years old. And he was always hungry.
“Let’s go for a picnic,” mom said one day. “We’ll make sandwiches when we get there.” So our family drove twenty miles to Moose Bay Beach in northern Quebec.
Soon after arriving I said, “Let’s eat.” I was always hungry too.
“Not right now,” my parents said. They placed the picnic basket on our blanket, with a towel protecting the food from a hot sun. “Swim first, eat later.”
“But Prince is hungry,” I protested. “Me too,” I whispered.
The water was cool from splashing fun. But a short while later screams came from mom on the shore.
Rushing out of the water, dad and I saw Prince smacking his lips.
“He ate all our sliced bologna,” mom moaned.
“Oh…Oh,” I said. “I bet Prince isn’t hungry anymore.”
But everyone else was.
Every boy wants a dog when they are young. Prince was a half-Collie and half-Farm dog, my dad said. I was eight years old and this was one of the many adventures I had when I was young.
© 2016 Richard L. Provencher