Earliest Memory: Joe Poochie

I was four years old.
I had a black labrador retriever.
His name? Joe Poochie.
Our favorite activity? Sharing dog food.
My family had moved from a small town in northern Minnesota, Cuyuna, to a town closer to Minneapolis to make my dad's work commute easier. The transition from having 60 acres to roam and play on to one acre was hard not just for our family, but especially for our special dog, Joe Poochie. He had loved his freedom, and now living in a neighborhood he was forced to be contained by a leash. Which he inevitably tore apart and escaped. We would chain him to the tree, he broke that as well...
Joe Poochie and I shared many fond memories. My early years were filled with several imaginary friends, playing in the dirt, and sharing dog food with Joe Poochie.
"One for Joe Poochie... one for me. One for Joe Poochie, one for me." I would chant in rhythm while separating the dog food kernels into two small piles for each of us.
It was traumatic for me as a four-year-old when the day came that my dad had to put Joe Poochie in the bed of his blue pick-up truck, and take him to the animal shelter, because he simply couldn't be controlled on our small property.
I've had several puppies since then, yet none of them compared to the companionship that Joe Poochie and I shared. And to this day, everytime I see a black labrador, I grin as the memories flood my mind.