My brothers each had a dog during our childhoods. I never had a dog. I had a duck.

After all these years of wondering, I recently asked a couple of brothers what I missed by living a dogless life.

On a rainy morning, I stepped onto Brother Number Three’s “Welcome to the Dog House” porch mat and stomped drops of water off my shoes. From inside the house a dog started barking, then my brother opened the door and greeted me.

“We have no need for a security system here,” he said. “We have Sadie.”

Sadie continued to bark and inspected my feet as I settled into a living room chair. Soon the dog decided I was okay.

We talked for a while, that is, my brother and I talked while Sadie curled up in a corner and took a nap. The dog’s indifference didn’t offend me. I could understand. Rainy days do that to me sometimes.

“Tell me,” I got straight to my question, “What did I miss by not having a dog during my childhood?”

From dog days of sixty-some years ago, he fondly recalled his first Beagle Hound.

“Me and Duke played together outside. There was stick throwing and racing. Duke always outran me, but that was because he had four legs. I only had two.”

He continued, “Mom wouldn’t let us have a dog inside the house, and when she scolded me for anything, I’d just go outside and talk to Duke.”

He directed my attention to a small wooden box on a mantel.

“My all-time favorite dog was Oreo.”

I was glad Sadie was asleep while he continued to tell me about Oreo.

“When I had a stroke and was in the hospital, the family brought Oreo to me. That’s when I started getting better. She was special—a funny dog. We loved her. When she died, we had her cremated and her ashes are in that box. When my time comes, I want her ashes buried with me.”

Later I visited Brother Number Four. I asked him the same question, “What have I missed living a dogless life?”

“Getting dog hair on your clothes and spending your money on dogfood.”

Then he told me about a Boarder Collie he was given for free.

“Sonny had a limp with I got him, so I took him to the vet. The dog had a fracture and got a cast—cost me $300 for that free dog! When Sonny got out of the cast, the vet said I should take the dog back to the farm and throw him into the pond for therapy in the water.”

My brother shook his head and stopped his account for a moment. Then he said, “But I wasn’t about to throw the dog in the pond. What if he couldn’t swim? I’d be out $300!”

I interjected, “You would have been better off with a duck.”