Case in point: My daddy.
When I was a little girl I had a dog named ‘Prince.’ He was a black mut. My siblings and I loved that dog so much, but we could do nothing to save poor Prince from my father, who obviously did not love him at all.
My father brought Prince to us for all the wrong reasons. This was in the 60′s, so people were not as persnickety about where they got their pets from…shelter vs breeder vs pet store; so I don’t know how this sweet dog came to us. But in time I grew to wish he hadn’t. My dad treated our dog badly. He never let Prince come in the house. The poor dog was chained to a backyard post, with little to no shelter during the hot New York summers and frigid New York winters. And we won’t even talk about feedings.
Our dog froze to death one winter and I never got over that.
Continued at EURThisNThat.