Taking My Place in the Mother Line

      Yesterday was Easter. Not a holiday that I really do much with anymore, but the memory pot gets a stir.
      My maternal grandmother and whoever else attended dinner would spend the afternoon looking at photos in her albums. While the menfolk dozed, we'd sit around the freshly cleared table and listen. Not just to stories of long departed relatives, but the tales of pets.
      This kitty had wandered into Grandma's back yard and decided to stay. My mother in her two-inch heels had marched into a muddy field to rescue Brownie, a small mixed breed who'd been left tied to a rocking chair during a severe thunderstorm. Rag Mop hung out with Grandpa so much that her ex-owners decided to give her to him when they moved. On goes the list.
     My niece has a poodle from a shelter.
     We have Oakley. Do you see a pattern here?