a bit of the old wit

When someone tells me how smart their dog is, I think of how dumb the person must be.

 

a note about Ms. Kitty

 

One day in second grade, I learned we had a cat. Dad found her or got her for free somewhere, I guess. We called her Ms. Kitty because that was the name a vet put on the paperwork when she was vaccinated. She was mean as hell except to my dad and me. We could pet her and hold her, but nobody else could. She would nap on my bed or sleep on dad's newspapers. When she had kittens, she got even meaner. One day my older sister brought over a boyfriend and his big, dumb German Shepherd. Ms. Kitty ran right out the door to confront the dog on the back patio, springing, claws out. I still remember bright red blood dripping off the stunned dog's rubbery black nose.

 

about a conversation at the office

A woman, Sue, from the policy division, stopped by the office Friday afternoon. She complimented Marcy on a photo Marcy keeps on her desk—closeup photo of a dog. Marcy said thank you. Then Sue reciprocated. She told us that she had her dog's DNA tested, and that the results revealed that quite a few varieties of dog contributed to its making. She provided us with her take on how each of the various breeds were represented in her dog's personality. Sue also shared some stories that illustrated each personality trait.

And a nearby coworker, Debbie, as it turns out, also has a dog. Of course, I knew this and much more beforehand, as she has mentioned it several dozen times. Debbie told us how her dog has started shitting on the two rugs her husband brought from Istanbul to the States. The dog wears diapers now. And, twice monthly, a patch of actual grass is delivered to Debbie's home; her odd son keeps this patch in his room for the dog to shit and piss on.

about people

When someone tells me how smart their dog is, I think of how dumb the person must be.