I’ve known Red since he was a cheeky teen. I’ve trained him to spin and to leave a treat untouched until I give him permission. I’ve walked with him and his Prime Person all over the neighborhood. I’ve ridden the kiddie train at Griffith Park with him and my beloved Joey — back in the day before insurance companies stopped such fun. I’ve kept his scrapbook, been his paparazza and celebrated his joie du chien.
At 13, Red wears his age well. A Jindo-mix, his coat is a red worthy of Dublin. These days his head is more white than red. Hematomas have bent his once perky ears. He doesn’t hear so well, so the UPS man and the mailman get breaks.