” It’s a boy, Mrs. Dog! It’s boy!”
Mrs. Dog smiled and drifted off. Drifted off into dreams of the boy wearing colors of blue and gold. It was pre-ordained.
The boy grew, gathered with his leprechaun family, around the radio every autumn Saturday, and listened to the exploits of Lamonica, Hanratty and Theismann.
Mr. Dog Sr. was a coach, and the boy was a naturally born athlete under his guidance. Oh, yes, he was a pretty darned good one. By his sophomore year, it was quite clear that he’d be playing at least one sport, maybe two, for his beloved college, the Fightin’ Irish of Notre Dame.