Two halves of a memory

I WAS thinking recently about how funny or poignant it can be when two people can have different memories of the same incident. It happens all the time. But I recently remembered something I hadn’t thought of in years until my father was sick and he told me how he remembered when I got my first dog.

I was about seven to eight years old and I had been promised a dog for a while. I do remember going on and on about it, I saved bones from the Sunday dinners for it when in actual fact what felt like a lifetime for me was probably only the gestation period of a dog.

Then we went to pick up the dog, my Daddy and me. I remember picking a little black and white puppy and holding her the whole time and my Dad trying to cajole me into picking another one. But I had picked her and that was that.

That’s what I remember then one day during the summer my Dad was ill he told me his memory of that day.

I had apparently decided to use a method to choose my new pup. I put my finger out and wiggled it on the ground. One little black and white pup climbed over all her brothers and sisters and made her way to my finger which she licked.

That was my mind made up; she picked me so I picked her.

My Dad passed away at the end of that summer so remembering conversations like this is particularly special.

Technorati tags: redmum irishblogs