Furry barfly

Last week, Katie and Rebecca were at our house to take us to the Shakespeare Workshop. When they came in the door, they were greeted by enthusiasm by Meelyn and Aisling and I and with an almost indecent fervor by Hershey and Wimzie, who bounced around the foyer in great happiness, each trying to prevent the other from receiving more attention.

Hershey lovingly pressed himself against Katie's legs, looking up at her with eyes spilling over with love. "Please pet my back," was the thought that his gaze earnestly conveyed. "Please pet my back and I will love you forever with cherries on top."

She complied and said, "You're such a handsome boy," which is a lie and we all know it, but still it was a nice thing to say. I mean, if someone has just told you that he loves you, the proper response is never, "Your breath is bad and why are you wearing white socks with dress shoes?"

When Katie petted Hershey, this was just too much for Wimzie, who bossily pushed herself forward to claim a little Katie-love of her own. Katie looked down at Wimzie, who, since it was kind of raining outside, was a bit tangled and bedraggled, with half her bangs over her eyes and the other half sticking up like asparagus. "You are a very disreputable looking little dog," Katie chuckled.

"If she were a person, I think she'd probably be the type who would walk around with a cigarette sticking out the corner of her mouth all day," I said. Whenever we have a couple of hours to spend on Wimzie with shampoo, clippers, brush and barrettes, she is very adorable indeed. But let's be real: When we have a couple of hours, the last thing on our minds is spending time on Wimzie with shampoo, clippers, brush and barrettes.

Katie warmed to the idea. "Maybe with a tattoo of a rose..."

"And gin breath."

"With her bra strap sliding down her arm under her tank top."

"And then there's Hershey," I said, indicating the boy with the neat, shiny black fur and the four dapper white boots with brown buttons, "the complete metrosexual."