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off a curb to cross a street. If you tried to force the issue she would actively resist, all the while whimpering pitifully. This meant that Penny’s life became confined to our home and our small backyard. Her exercise would be a few circuits around the block, or occasionally I would drive her to a park for a bit of a romp. In all other ways she was as courageous as any other boxer. Ultimately my education as a psychologist would teach me some techniques that might have been able to rid her of her fears, but that was years away and sadly too late for Penny.
    When I got Penny, I was in my last year of high school and doing quite well academically. My personal life was orderly if not exciting, since, as the oldest child, my extended family had basically planned my future. My parents and maternal grandfather had even decided who I would marry. My father had planned my entry into the army as soon as I graduated. My mother had arranged to make sure that my scholarship for college would be held until I left active military service. My parents had also decided which university I would attend, namely, the University of Pennsylvania “because it is an Ivy League school.”
    My future career was also planned for me. My reading and interests mostly leaned toward the behavioral and biological sciences, since I had retained my childhood dream of being something like Dr. Doolittle, learning to communicate with animals and to understand what they were thinking. It was the 1960s, however, when the race between the United States and Russia for the domination of space filled the news. Physicists, engineers, and computer scientists were the heroes of the time, and psychologists and biologists did not get anywhere near the same attention or respect. My parents assumed that I’d select a profession that would involve research in the physical sciences or perhaps an engineering or technological specialization, and they exerted every pressure they could to make sure that their expectations came to pass, including continually talking about how I would become a great astrophysicist, nuclear scientist, or aviation engineer. Although I had my own dreams and desires, I was not particularly rebellious and had respect for my parents, believing that they had my best interests in mind. Furthermore, I simply assumed that this kind of control was what everyone my age experienced.

    In later years, my parents would ease their attempts at controlling their children’s lives, which would benefit my brothers, but I was their firstborn and they did not tolerate much questioning about their plans for me. I occasionally balked, but in most instances, their constant pressure made me conform. Nonetheless, my parents were not tyrants, so if I was insistent enough for long enough, they would let me take my own course of action, although they did not make it easy and would not let me forget that I had deviated from the path expected of “a good son.”
    Under this benevolent dictatorship, I felt socially isolated. I had no confidants to whom I could talk and work out my options. My small circle of friends tended to talk about “things” and “events,” not feelings, personal goals, and futures—andnever about relationships with our parents. Ultimately Penny would become the companion with whom I shared my secrets.

    I had a part-time job on Thursday and Friday evenings and all day Saturday. When I was home, I spent a lot of time in my small room studying. I had a little desk there with a goose-necked lamp on it. There was also an old rocking chair near the window. Next to the bed was a floor pillow on which Penny slept. When I would go upstairs to work, Penny would follow me, lie down on the pillow, and watch me at the desk. When I sat in the rocking chair reading she would hop up on my narrow single bed and nap. The reverberation of her gentle snoring became the comforting background music for my life, and ever since I have always found it easier to write or