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“I’m afraid he doesn’t recognize that name,” Bart said. I was surprised that, after a full year, the dog wouldn’t know his name. “Why not?” I asked. Bart reached up and scratched his head. “Well, it’s kind of a long story. You see, we have a throw rug we put just outside our door so we can wipe our muddy feet on it before we come into the house. When Rufus was a pup, he would chew that rug to pieces, either that, or drag it off somewhere and bury it, or something. Every time I stepped out the door and saw it chewed or gone, I would yell, ‘Dang it, you stupid dog!’ and he got to thinking that was his name. “The boys and I have gotten it shortened to just ‘Dang It’. I’ve kind of tried to get him used to his normal name again, but I’ve about given up. I figure that a person shouldn’t try to teach an old dog new tricks. Just call him what he knows.” I whistled and patted my leg. “Here, Dang It.” Immediately, the dog was by my side. I patted his beautiful golden head as Bart continued. “The problem is that we haven’t had the courage 10