Instantly I knew better, but did not know how to react, or even what to think. At first I was fine with it, though mystified by my wife’s enthusiasm for throwing a live grenade into the living room. Shea was a real dog. A big dog. Actually, Shea was a behemoth. Of course, any decision to acquire another animal should have been a family affair. That is how to preserve the peace. Peace was, alas, elusive. No one fought the addition. I knew it would be like talking to my foot. Shea resembled a small horse, and I began to think maybe he was not a dog at all. He should have been eating hay. Shea was jet-black and all muscle. He could have run the Preakness. I never knew his breed, but his coat was smooth and this doggie or horsie was as big as the stadium where he turned up. If Meredith was looking for trouble, bingo, she found it. Shea was the heftiest child in the house. Gabe is and always has been a Mets fan.
