His bills are worse than bite
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Back in July, I wrote a column about Sandy the Wonder Dog, my four-legged companion who went to his final reward after a distinguished life of getting into the breadbox and otherwise lying around doing nothing ("Good dog, Sandy," July 19, 2005).
It was my intention to have a decent period of mourning for Sandy. But my daughter, Allison, came home from her summer job and immediately declared: "This family needs a dog." This was in the finest tradition of her mother, who holds that while the position of man of the house is theoretically occupied, it's not as if his opinions count for anything.
Allison had no definite plan for dog procurement, but in our local village she found a clothing store -- SoHo of Sewickley -- whose kindly owner displays pictures of animals in the window. Some are older dogs, who have been around the park several times and are suddenly displaced or need to be rescued from bad situations -- their hapless owners perhaps having been impoverished by having to gas up their SUVs.
Rather than leave these situational orphans to a cruel fate, good homes are sought for them. As Allison first told me all this, little violins seemed to be playing in the background, so I assumed that this effort had an e-mail address something like arf@dogsforsuckers.com.
Then, as I was going out the door one Saturday morning on my way to hone my reputation for eccentricity (I don't wish to seem more-eccentric-than-thou but I do play cricket in my spare time), Allison and her mother informed me that they had seen a picture of a very cute dog and were going to see it. He was a black-and-white lab and spaniel mix -- and only 9 years old!
Be smart, I said. Make sure you really like this dog. Ask the vital questions (e.g., does it chew expensive imported cricket bats?). Oh, they said, we won't make rash decisions. Oh no.
Of course, I left for the match thinking that, win or lose, the ever-sticky wicket of dog ownership was in my future. Now, this could have been one of those "Am I a man or a chihuahua?" moments. But it seemed like all protest was futile, so I yapped and left the house.
First Published September 27, 2005 12:00 am
