One thing about Dalmatians is they pick out early on which of the family is their Human.
I asked Moma a number of years ago who belonged to Mutt. OF COURSE I figured it was me. She took a breath and wearily sighed "mmeeeeee." "Oh yeah.... you were the first one to feed him!" And with another sigh she answered "I knooow.."
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.
For those wondering, there really is/was a spotted dog.
His sire named Phillip belonged to friends of ours. His human was offered "pick of the litter," but he really didn't want another dog. He told Daddy about it and Daddy figured "every boy needs a dog," and brought him home without telling Moma.
Well, it all started in 1967. I grew up on a horse ranch showing champion Appaloosa horses... typically spotted. for some reason, it was decided that every horse's birthday was 1 January. My horse was one day older than my dog. because of this, on 1 January, Ecko was a year old. My dog was merely 5 months.
