Let's just say Moma didn't share Daddy's enthusiasm. 
Not even remotely. 
I was 5. This would just be one more thing to add to her already full plate with the horses and the ranch and everything else that would come along. 
While we didn't have paperwork,  we were certain the dog was purebred. You can often hear horror stories about Dalmatians being bad with children and difficult in general.   This one was the rare exception. 
Even with my excitement,  Moma had no use for a puppy to take care of. 

On numerous occasions she would comment that he was "just a mutt."
Simple or perhaps condescending as is  was, the name stuck. Mutt. 


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Previously published:

One Man's Trash is TRULY Another Man's Treasure