Though we referred to him as our dog, the family dog, Bullitt was clearly our brother's dog. Fittingly so; after all, it was Tony who delivered him from the trunk of a man's car, most definitely saving him from a trip to the animal shelter, or an even worse fate.
Tony was walking home from school with friends one afternoon when, only a few blocks from home, an older man standing by a car beckoned to him. "Say, boy," he called. Tony looked around, then pointed to himself. "Me?" "Yeah." He opened the trunk of his car. "You want a dog?" Tony approached and looked into the trunk. There was a little puppy inside, mostly brown mixed with black, with pointed ears that flopped down at the end, and a long bushy tail that curled. Tony reached in and petted him and the puppy whined excitedly and scrabbled to gain his footing. When Tony gathered the puppy into his arms and the puppy licked at his face, the bond was cemented.
Tony brought the puppy home, begging our mother, "Please, Mama, please can I keep him? I'll take care of him and I'll walk him and I'll feed him and clean up after him."
His earnestness was so convincing that Mama agreed to let Tony keep the puppy, and that is how Bullitt Parks, as his chart at the veterinarian's down the street read, became a part of the family.
When Bullitt reached full size he was not a huge dog, rather a mid-size German Shepherd-esque dog. As he was always scrambling to crawl into one's lap, however, apparently in Bullitt's mind he was a lap dog. and he had the personality and temperament of a lap dog, affection, high emotion and empathy.
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