This is an old photo of my sister and our dog, King. King was a mutt with obvious traces of husky in his genetic makeup. His house was a fifty-gallon drum, and he lived outside most of the time except during extreme weather situations like hurricanes and blizzards. My parents were of the opinion that dogs were dogs.
King was presented to my brother and I as a birthday present. I was six at that point and my sister was one, but as the years went by she loved that dog so much that at the age of three she proclaimed that she was going to marry him. :^)
The dog catcher incarcerated King when he was nine years old. We got him back, but he died shortly afterward. Dad buried him on the hill behind the house.
We had other pets over the years, but King lived the longest and was much loved. When I put dogs into my stories, I always think of him.