The house was in a perfect setting. In front they had a large pond that stretched the length of a long gravel driveway, small and large trees scattered across twenty acres, and a tool shop out behind the tan-colored house where Benjamin’s dad spent most of his evenings tinkering, just like his dad used to.

Benjamin was making his second attempt at a tall sand castle when his mother opened the back glass door. “Ben, somebody’s here to see you!” She smiled knowingly.

Benjamin was shocked that he was the reason for a visitor. Anytime anybody made the effort to drive out to the country, it was a big deal. He threw his blue plastic shovel into the sand and ran barefoot onto the back porch. He looked through the finger-smudged glass door and saw a big cardboard box, hands gripping the sides, rounding the corner of the hallway. Grandpa Gus’s brown pant legs were underneath the box and walking toward him. The little boy opened the door and let his grandpa through.

“Benjamin, my boy!” Grandpa’s muffled voice said from behind the box.

“Hi, Grandpa! What’s in the box?” Benjamin heard scratching sounds and his eyes grew wide.

His grandpa laid the box on the wooden porch and cocked his head. “Well, I don’t really know. You’d better take a look.”

The curious child peeked through the two long cardboard flaps and saw only darkness. Then something wet licked his nose. Benjamin pulled back and a small pug puppy tipped the box over and ran out.

“This is my dog? Oh, wow! Thanks, Grandpa!” In his excitement he fell backward, letting the hyper dog run up and down on top of him. “What’s his name?”

Grandpa Gus knelt and petted the puppy’s tan coat as Benjamin’s smiling parents stood at the open door. “Well, Benjamin, he doesn’t have one. So I’m gonna let you pick this little pug’s name.”

“A pig? He’s not a dog?” He did kind of look like a pig, with a curly little tail and flattened snout.

His grandpa laughed. “No, pug. That’s what kind of dog he is–a pug.”

The boy thought for a moment, “Well then, I like Pugsly!”

“That’s a wonderful name, son.”

“Is he one of your puppies, Grandpa?”

“No, he’s from another dog. This little guy is about six months old.” Gus scratched Pugsly above his tail and his hind foot patted quickly against the floor.

“He’s got a black foot!” Benjamin cried, holding up the little black paw that stood out from the other three tan ones. The pug playfully bit his fingers.

“Yes, that’s what makes him unique. You’re quite the special dog, aren’t you, Pugsly?” The puppy barked.

Benjamin’s mom stepped onto the porch. “Now, sweetie, you’re going to be responsible for feeding and watering—”