Knowing breeds of dogs seems a more satisfying pasttime than recognizing cars.
It’s being able to define and sort out the categories that gives me pleasure. Once upon a time, it came from identifying a Saab.
I spent the better part of an afternoon at a party talking to a man about his champion dog. From the photo I ventured. “He looks like an Airedale,” though my new friend had told me the breed. He is a patient man, so he told me “Airedales have that black saddle.”
Memory is an odd companion, and like a puzzle, the picture in my mind clicked.
We spoke of his champion’s character, and I said, “He’s a perfect dog.” He answered “No one is perfect. He’s a great dog.”
All The Best 