Blossom

My little son wanted a dog.
He and the son of our across the street neighbors talked of little else for months. One Saturday morning their fathers left on an "errand" and returned home with puppies.
Both boys were elated. Both moms were less than elated. We both knew who would do a lot of the taking care of the canines.
We called our puppy "Blossom." She was a cute thing with a sweet disposition that followed her into her adulthood. She and her young master were constant companions and best friends.
She was exceedingly tolerant of him.
So much so that when his preschool class went to the fire station and he became enthralled with the "firedog" he came right home and made himself a homemade Dalmatian.
That she would stand still long enough for a little boy to paint white spots with a spray paint can all over her is amazing.  I inquired of our veterinarian about what we should do as soon as I was witness his handiwork. "It shouldn't hurt her at all," he told me, "but it's going to be a long time growing off." He chuckled before he we hung up. It was not funny to me at the time but since then we told the story over and over, finding it more funny with each telling.

Blossom raised a single litter of puppies but it was a huge one. She made a good mother to her pretty little offspring. She was the undisputed queen of our yard, even when several of them got big enough to challenge her position. They ultimately were place in new homes that the children themselves approved.
She continued to be a perfect pet for a rough and tumble little boy and the sisters on either side of him. She continues, these years later, to hold a special place in his heart and in all of ours.