My dad had a weakness for dogs. He would bring dogs home after work. At times there could have 4 to 6 dogs running around the place. I'm not sure where many of them came from, could have been strays or farmers with too many dogs, just don't remember. One dog my dad came home with was a Great Dane that inherited the name, Moe. The Mormons were building a church next to our place and Moe would go over and visit them and they called him Moses, so my dad came up with the nickname Moe. Moe was a friendly dog and at times ventured away from home. We learned later that Moe had a thing going with a female Boxer at someplace on a road near town. It is hard to imagine a Great Dane and a Boxer getting together, but it happened. A few months later the Boxer gave birth to a male pup that looked like Moe. If there were other pups in the litter I don't recall, but the owners of the Boxer were not pleased with the affair and let my dad know of it. My dad felt responsible and adopted the Son of Moe, which we called Fritz. Not sure why that name was bestowed upon the Son of Moe. Fritz had a Boxer face, that only a mother could love, and somewhat of a body of a Great Dane, about mid-size between a Boxer and a Great Dane. At some point in time, Moe got into the garbage and ingested some poison, and died. Fritz lived a long life and moved to Stockton after my dad got out of the farming business and sold our home near Willows. This all happened after I went into the Army in 1966.
My first dog was name Moe. I was only 3 or 4 when he jumped out of the parked car. I remember being so sad that Moey was gone.
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