Many years ago there lived in my neighborhood, a nondescript male dog of uncertain ancestry named Cinnamon because of his color. Cinnamon was a notorious stud who could sniff out a female in heat from miles away, or so it seemed. All the litters delivered by the female mutts around here had Cinnamon's distinctive coloring.
I was aware of Cinnamon for about five years, even though my female dog was spayed. He lived a good life, but time passed, as it is wont to do, and Cinnamon became quite gray in the coat; you could say he'd lost a step or two along the way.
Now one of the neighbors had a hound-ish female on a chain in her back yard (I hate to see dogs chained up, but that's another story), and yes, the dog was in heat. The neighbor happened to look out and saw Cinnamon just as he was finished insuring that his handsome coat would be seen for years to come; it was too late to chase him. She watched him saunter down the driveway only to fall dead just before he reached the street. I arrived home from work about a half-hour later and walked down to see why the guys on the street were all gathered in a little circle. There, in their midst, lay Cinnamon, and damned if that old dog didn't have a smile on his face.
F. A. Zedik
2004