Angol
Unreeling time in Remembering Dogs, I ask the kind reader to join me in reminiscence with love and affection mutts, mongrels, the high bred that filled our lives with the purest joy. Perhaps, the title should read more explicitly as Remembering Dogs In and About a Restaurant, a landmark restaurant my parents owned in Coney Island during its hey-day, and decline. It had a dual reputation, as a restaurant with a solid cucina and, the site of a prominent kennel which housed on average forty to fifty dogs of various breeds. My father was the foremost fancier of the Boston Terrier in the USA, he had no prejudices against any other breed, he loved them all. There were times when I thought his sporting life as a fancier of the Boston Terrier, the American Breed, was a tip of the hat tribute to the country that gave a 16 year old immigrant warmth and a place. Many a day he preferred the company of the dogs in his kennel than the company of his dining patrons. You, the reader, are eager to tell me tales about your dog. I shall temper your impetuosity, and mine, by a passing salute to the restaurant dog.
