A Boy and His Dog

I remember the old red dog. He was, I think, a northern fiest, with red hair and a black snout. He would listen to my Grandpa Joe with whatever command that aged man would speak. He was obedient that way, responding as his master would command. A good dog. "Hey dog! Hey dog!" Joe would demand, and that old dog would respond, cowering while seeking acceptance, wishing to please his master. He cowered often, as would both his children and their progeny. Old Red dog would run full on towards his target, which was the lock of his Master's old shop, where we worked. He would respond that all was well. Joe taught Red well. A boy and his dog.