Jon Stasko, his heart, if not his behavior, always in the right place, brought Charley home. Jon’s father was not happy with the new addition. Mr. Stasko had nothing to do with charley. Matter of fact, when Mr. Stasko’s first-born brought charley home, he walked out. Not for long, of course, and within a few weeks, he fell in love with the homely weenie-sausage dog. Not in front of his wife or kids, but once the kids were in bed, there was Mr. Stasko, playing with his the new family member. There was also some question about his (Charley’s, not Mr. Stasko’s) heritage; there was plenty of wiener dog in him, and sausage dog, too, if his girth was any indication. Charley likely enjoyed his new family. With six kids alternately creating mayhem and joy, there was no shortage of company.  Charley resides today at Rainbow Bridge, but his memory lives on. Not for saving the family from a fire or tearing off the leg of a burglar or eating someone’s homework. Charley developed a deep love and affection for the matriarch, Stella. As the kids grew older and more independent, she went to work part-time at a Lakewood grocery store, three days a week. Charley promptly expressed his opinion of working mothers — whenever Stella went to work, he jumped on her bed and peed on her pillow. Not a lot, but a little squirt. Not when Stella went to church or to play bingo or to take the kids on a picnic or to the doctor. It was only when Stella went to work that Charley expressed himself in this way. Stella’s solution? She covered her pillow with plastic.

There were so many unanswered questions that went with charley to Rainbow Bridge. First, how the heck did that short-legged little tub of goo get on the bed? How did he know which side of the bed was Stella’s? Why her pillow? Why not her ankle as she left for work?

Ah, the many mysteries created by man’s best friend … but not exactly Stella’s best friend.

   Consider a few things. Cats look both ways before crossing the street. They poop and pee indoors. As if that were not enough, kittens pose for these dopey pictures, cuddling with a dog. My research indicates that later in life, when their claws are fully formed and sharpened, and the blood lust rises uncontrollably, they slash the throats of these dogs.

      So, smarter? Cats. More fun to be around? Dogs, far a away. 

                                    John H. Tidyman, Devoted Companion to Harry

The Next Thing You Know, Ol’ Fido is Shooting Up 

An acquaintance figured out how to keep his dog, a gorgeous Boxer, quiet. Drug the beast. It was only a matter of time, wasn’t it? Monkey see, monkey do.  This inexcusable and novel example of animal abuse was probably studied by the heartless, money-grubbing research department at Doggie Downs, Inc. Too bad they missed one great research opportunity: Take the dope themselves and give it to the family and neighborhood kids, too. The menu includes tranquilizers, hypnotics, benzodiazepines, and anti-anxiety medications, the same crap we’ve been using to medicate ourselves with less than satisfactory results. 

Look, if you’re so selfish, so busy, so lacking in heart that you would drug a dog, just take the pooch to a rescue center, will you? If you’re by car, make sure you’re not high for the ride.