Transferring your emotions ... Largely About My Dog by ROBERT F. YOUNG ROBERT F. YOUNG author of over a hundred stories mostly in the science fiction and fantasy field has had his work published in The Saturday Evening Post Family Circle The Toronto Star and many other magazines. The story referred to in this article is scheduled for publication in Analog. Several of his stories have been reprinted in anthologies. Y OU have seen mornings like this one. Bright mornings bright with the brightness of wintersunlight and bright with the immaculateness of new-fallen snow. Such mornings are sleight-of-hand subterfuges designed to deflect our attention from the malicious activities that are goingon behind our backs and to lull us into thinking that the purpose of all creation is theperpetuation of life. A little while ago I let my dog out into the crisp and bright and immaculate day and hardlyhalf an hour later one of the village police officers drove into my driveway and told me mydog was dead. I have in my possession one beat-up dog collar from whose buckle forlornly hangsa little license tag with a number on it and out in the kitchen by the back door lies thesmall rug where he slept and upon which he was standing wagging his tail when I camedownstairs on this bright and crisp and immaculate morning and let him out and I remember himstanding on the back porch in the bluish shadow of the shed looking upon the new day andbreathing in its brightness and its crispness and its immaculateness and then setting forth todie. My dog was only ten months old. Last July my sister-in-law brought him up from Pennsylvaniafor my daughter and when my daughters husband said they didnt want him I said Id take him.Ill see to it that he has a good home I said — largely for the benefit of my wife whodoesnt like dogs. You might say that he was a dog whom nobody wanted but it wouldnt be quitetrue. I wanted him. He was a digger my brother-in-law said. That was all right. Weve got a big backyard so there wasplenty of room for him to dig. The trouble was he seldom stayed in it. Dogs you see have adifferent concept