from her car, “but you won’t believe how cheap they cost me.” And now I noticed a gleam in her eyes.

“Ah, dear,” she said sweetly, “let's get this puppy!”

Well, I have to admit, the puppy really was charming and playful. While I was assessing the situation, the rascal almost gnawed through the strap on my watch.

“We need to check his reaction,” I said. I've told Jenny many times before how we chose St. Sean. I was very young, and my father told me that I needed to make some sudden movement or make some noise in order to distinguish a timid puppy from a brave one. In response, Jenny, surrounded by fluffy lumps, rolled her eyes, thus making it clear that the behavior of the members of the Grogan family, to put it mildly, seemed strange to her.

“Seriously,” I insisted. - This method works.

I turned my back on the puppies, and then suddenly lunged at them, stamped my foot and shouted, “Hey!” The lumps did not react to the strange movement of the stranger, and only one of them jumped forward to face the danger with his chest. It was the same Bargain Puppy. He lunged at me enthusiastically, entangled himself between my ankles, and attacked my laces furiously, deciding that he was facing dangerous enemies that needed to be dealt with.

“Looks like a sign of fate,” Jenny said.

- Do you think? I asked, picking up the puppy from the floor and holding it close to my face with one hand.

I carefully examined his muzzle. In response, he stared at me with touching brown eyes and lightly poked my nose. I handed the puppy to Jenny and he repeated his greeting.

“Looks like he liked us,” I said.

We made our choice and wrote Laurie a check for $350. She said that in three weeks the Bargain-Puppy would be old enough to be weaned and taken away.

We thanked the hostess, finally stroked Lily and said goodbye.

On the way to the car, I put my arm around Jenny's shoulders and pulled her close to me.

Are you ready to believe it? I exclaimed. We almost got a dog!

“I wish I could bring the puppy home as soon as possible,” she replied.

As soon as we approached the car, we heard a noise from the direction of the forest. Someone was making his way through the bushes, and this creature was breathing heavily. Such sounds are good for a horror movie. We froze, peering into the darkness. The sound grew louder, its source clearly approaching. A moment later, a yellow silhouette appeared in the streak of light and moved towards us. A very large yellow animal. When it ran past, seemingly not even paying any attention to us, we realized that it was a giant Labrador. And he did not in any way resemble dear Lily, with whom we caressed in the house. This dog was soaking wet, his paws and belly were covered with mud, his tongue hung out of his mouth, and foam dripped from his lips. Looking into his eyes for a fraction of a second, I saw in them a strange, almost crazy, but at the same time joyful glint, as if the dog had just encountered a ghost, and this meeting amused him.

In the next moment, the beast disappeared with a roar, hiding behind the house. Jenny breathed a sigh of relief.

“An inner voice tells me,” I said, feeling an attack of rising nausea, “we just saw dad.

Chapter 2
Blue blooded dog
We, the newly-minted dog breeders, immediately flared up a dispute. It started on the road, while we were driving from Lori, and stretched out for a whole week. We couldn't decide what to name our Discounted Puppy. Jenny didn't like my options and vice versa. The struggle of opinions ended one morning before leaving for work.

- Chelsea? I asked. "That's such a chicken name!" Yes, no normal dog will fit the name Chelsea.

"You'd think he'd understand what we called him!" Jenny retorted.

“Another thing is the Hunter,” I suggested. - Hunter - why not a nickname?

- Hunter?! Are you kidding me? Are you going to go hunting with him in the company of men? It's too brutal a name. Besides, you've never hunted in your life.

“He’s a dog,” I snapped, starting to seethe with anger. He must have a male name. And do not adjust the nickname to fit your female stereotypes.

All this did not suit me. I decided to take the bull by the horns. As Jenny prepared to retaliate, I tried to steer the argument in the right direction.

Why don't you like the name Louis?

"It's appropriate if you work at a gas station," Jenny said irritably.

- Okay, great! By the way, that was my grandfather's name. Do you really want to name the dog after your grandfather? Bill, nice dog!

Then Jenny, showing her indifference to the discussion, went to the tape recorder and turned on the music. This was one of her marital quarrels: when you hit a dead end, silence your partner. The rhythmic reggae sounds of Bob Marley poured out of the speakers,[1] which instantly calmed us both.

We discovered this Jamaican singer when we moved from Michigan to South Florida. On the swampy shores of the mostly white American upper Midwest, we hooked on Bob Seger[2] and John Cougar Mellencamp.[3] Here yet in South Florida, that pulsating ethnic tide, Bob Marley's music was heard everywhere, even years after his death. We heard it on the radio as we drove down Biscayne Boulevard. She played while we sipped Cuban coffee in the Little Havana area or ate Jamaican chicken in the drab immigrant neighborhoods west of Fort Lauderdale. We enjoyed it the first time we had clam fritters at the Bahamas' Goombey Music Festival in Miami's upscale Coconut Grove area and on a Haitian souvenir trip to Key West.[4]

As we explored the area, we fell more and more in love with South Florida and with each other. And the spirit of Bob Marley seemed to hover invisibly everywhere. He was with us when we roasted on the beach in the scorching sun, when we repainted the dirty green walls of our house, when we woke up at dawn to the screams of parrots and made love in the morning sun shining through the branches of the Brazilian pepper tree that grew under our windows. We fell in love with this music for its immediacy and beauty; she reminded us of those sweet moments when we merged in a single impulse. Bob Marley became the musical background of our new life together in this strange, exotic, hectic place, completely different from our previous living conditions.

And now our favorite song, close to both of us, was pouring out of the speakers. Marley's voice filled the room as the chorus rang out over and over: "Is love in my heart?" And we, without saying a word, exclaimed with one voice: “Marley!”

- Here! I rejoiced. - Here it is, the right name! Jenny smiled. This was a good sign. I decided to repeat the name again.

“Marley, come to me,” I commanded. - Marley, sit down! Good dog, Marley!

Jenny picked up:

- Marley, you're just a cutie!

"I think it's a great name," I concluded. Jenny nodded in agreement. Our arguments are over, and the puppy finally has a name.

* * *
The next evening after supper I went into the bedroom where Jenny was reading and said:

- I think we need to add charm to his name.

- What are you talking about? Jenny looked at me in surprise. “We both like it.

I looked through the American Kennel Club registration forms. As a purebred Labrador whose parents had pedigrees, Marley was also eligible for club registration. By to tell the truth, these papers are needed only for those owners who are going to show their dog or want to give it for mating - in such cases, a certificate is required. This is not required for an ordinary four-legged pet. But I was already making grandiose plans for our Marley. For the first time I had to deal with a more or less purebred dog, even with the experience of our family. Like St. Sean, the dog of my childhood, there was nothing in my own pedigree worthy of note. It seems that I have more blood mixed in than there are countries in Europe. And Marley is a blue-blooded dog, and I was not going to miss the opportunity associated with his thoroughbred origin. I confess that I am in awe of celebrities.

“Imagine, we will take him to the exhibition,” I dreamed. - Tell me, have you ever seen a champion with one name? No, they always have long titles, like Sir Dartworth of Cheltenham.

“And his master is Sir Dorkshire of West Palm Beach,” Jenny burst out laughing.

- No seriously. We can make some decent money putting up Marley. Do you know how much people are willing to pay for the pleasure of looking at a purebred dog? And all these dogs have fancy names.

“Anything you want, dear,” Jenny replied, and plunged back into her reading.

I spent the rest of the evening contemplating a new name and literally caught my wife in the bathroom the next morning:

I have found the perfect name.

She looked at me skeptically.

- Well, what?

- Fine. Ready? Here it is! - and, savoring every word, I said: - Gorgeous ... Marley ... Churchill ... Property of the Grogans. (Damn, I thought, sounds like royalty!)

“Look, I think that sounds stupid,” Jenny snapped.

But I didn't care. I had the honor of doing all the preparatory work, and I already wrote the name on the papers.