How to begin? Well, that's what I'm writing about, isn't it? Where to begin, how to end. I put up with this stuff from my dogs every day. I walk three of them—Otto, my 900-pound Weimaraner; Skeeter, my son's seriously bloated toy fox terrier; and Dottie, my mother-in-law's 900-year-old border collie mix who is...how to put this without sounding cruel?...dotty. You know, like every half-block she stops dead in her tracks and stares... More >>>
I come down an alley with my dogs, and instead of the crack house they were looking for, we find pricey town homes. So the question is, are the dogs happy?