The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein

What is there to say, other then I wish my dog acted more like Enzo than Napoleon.

The actual writing of the story held no particular qualities that made it stick out as pure poetry but the story, that was poetry. It sounds like crazy cat or dog ladies-slash-men have the right idea for their next life or the way their treated by others. Have you ever met anyone with the same name as your dog, cat, hamster, goldfish, or whatever animals you keep as a friendly companion (if it’s a panda or elephant than I would like to meet you) say something that you’ve said to them. I haven’t by any of my former pets, but would like to. Maybe I’ll meet my dog in a couple years and he’ll tell me just how crazy I really am.

I’m sure there are other people out there who can relate to what I’m about to say, and if you do please share your stories with me.

But instead of meeting a pet in a new form I might have met a relative in a new form. I had an Uncle on   my father’s side named “Buddy,” who passed away years and years before I was born, even before I found my dog at a pet shop. It had been enough years so that he could have gone through many previous lives, an ant, a butterfly, so on and so forth working himself up the food chain.

I never really gave this idea much thought, before reading this book, but now that I do do think about it. Could it explain my dogs favoritism to my father, or his sluggish ways?

Someone call me when science has another breakthrough, until then I think I should just stay in a padded cell and consider this idea further in my mind.

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