A previous ramble through old family photos turned up a random but almost invariable inclusion of a rooster. My latest tour through the yellowing files shows that dogs might be even more prevalent.
There is my grandfather, Homer W. Robertson, relaxing with the famous Jan, who I never met but whose name I heard often enough that I remember it even today.
There is my great-grandmother with child and dog in tow.
Poor Aunt Barbara Carol Robertson never was able to speak but it made no difference to her friends.
And the only photograph I have my father, Bob Robertson, and stepmother Pat from their dogless Peace Corps days, shows that with the help of their assistant, Aydín, they found a friend somewhere in a dusty province of western Turkey.