It was about 6 PM on a Sunday evening, thirteen years ago that my fourth son and I arrived home from a trip to Indiana, bringing with us our dog, Flyer, and two ten-week-old puppies which would be named Chief and Navi.

My son and I, along with Flyer, spent the weekend with my mother in Elwood, Indiana, so we could all attend a winter percussion event in Indianapolis where my third son competed with the Fairmont HS ensemble.

We wound our way through eastern-central Indiana and were near Monroe Central Jr/Sr High School and followed IN-1 as it turned east to merge with CR 400E. At the corner was a large piece of plywood leaning against a utility pole with rough, hand-painted words, “Free Puppies.” A few hundred yards later, another sign with the same message was at the entrance to a farmhouse. I continued driving past the house and suddenly stopped in the middle of the road. My son said, “He’s gonna do it, Flyer!  He’s gonna do it.”

The son was correct. I did it. I turned around the car and we pulled into the driveway. We were led to the barn by the teenage daughter of the house where we observed eight puppies playing in the straw-filled stall with their mamma, a black lab. We were told the father was a Staffordshire bull terrier. Six puppies were all black with touches of white, but two were all white. I was gravitating toward one of the all-white puppies, but I encouraged my son to pick out a puppy. He immediately selected the male puppy that would soon be named Chief. I watched several puppies playing and noticed the larger ones were trampling the runt of the litter. “Hand her to me! She’s getting crushed!”

The son and I walked out carrying two puppies that Sunday afternoon. He carried Chief and I had Navi tucked under my arm.

The house felt complete with three dogs, and my sixteen-year-old cat, Logan.

In October 2011, Logan passed away, and two years later we lost Flyer in July, and Navi in December 2013 following an automobile tragedy. Four days later, I returned home with eight-week-old puppies, Bailey and Harrigan.

Through the years, Chief has seen sons and foster sons come and go, as well as four cats and three dogs. He’s been the best dog, and even with aching joints and lots of aging, he’s still the leader of the pack, serving as the magnet for new pets.

Today, on this thirteenth anniversary of Chief’s (and Navi’s) Gotcha Day, the pooches got a scoop of pumpkin on their kibble, and tonight, they each enjoyed a scoop of vanilla ice cream.