opinion-|-man-bites-what?-no,-rye-is-a-dog

Greg and Rye are my friends. Devin, my wife, knows this. Yet Rye is also the name of Greg’s Goldendoodle, which slipped Devin’s mind in a recent telephone conversation, with entertaining consequences.

I exercise regularly on Saturday mornings with a group of friends. After the predawn workout at the park, we dawdle over coffee at our favorite hangout nearby. On this particular Saturday I brought my 11-year-old son, Jack. Greg had missed that morning’s workout, but he brought his beloved pooch, an infrequent visitor, to coffee.

 

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