People are surprised to hear that, for a person who has nine much-doted-upon children, I really don’t have much tolerance for kids. I never ask to hold the new baby. And most children are pretty demanding and boring, even if their dear and beleaguered parents have done their best. People are surprised to hear that, for someone whose dog is perfect (he really is perfect; he is the kind of dog that could be running wild a quarter of a mile away on a wild and beautiful beach, but will come the first time you call …) I never want another one. A great deal of my life has been invested in this dog and I don’t have enough life to give that much again. Maybe I’m just becoming the kind of old lady who glowers. Maybe you could draw a line between the kids and the dogs … although it would be kind of a tenuous line. Maybe I mean to draw a line between the dogs and the dog parents. What I mean is, I find people to be even more indulgent with their dogs than with their children, and, while they don’t mean to, they end up inflicting their pets on the world. I have a dear friend who has a border collie, a dog that falls asleep at midnight and wakes up at 3 a.m. ready to rocket again. Once when she came to visit, he leapt out of the car and into our above-ground pool, where he proceeded to shred the lining with his claws and bit the floaties in half. Then he headed out, faster than we could close the gate. We spent hours driving through the neighborhood waving hunks of liverwurst and calling, “Maxim! Maxim!” My friend said, “He’s a herding dog. He loves to run.” He was actually a naughty herding dog who wasn’t stupid, who learned how to get more joy from disobedience than from obedience. My brother has two Australian shepherds. They’re beautiful and energetic. They can leap their own height to grab the sandwich out of your hand or even your mouth. They can vault onto the kitchen counters to eat a whole package of bagels. A neighbor’s dog used to roll over on his back and pee straight up into the air, spraying anyone around him, and the neighbor thought this was hilarious. But it was actually, on the dog’s part, a gesture of emotion almost perfectly described by the action itself. When a friend from California came to visit, bringing her adorable Havanese, the dog took the trouble to poop in every room in the house. “She’s just nervous,” our friend explained. In fact, the dog was absolutely nerve-less, bold it her statements of disdain and ownership, all eight of them. I think I am destined to be the kind of little old lady who glowers at children in the way I now glower when huge dogs haul their slight owners down the street. Maybe I should have cats, but I put up with them even less than dogs (or kids). When cats look at you, they are thinking, is there food or no food? Just let me know, because I can leave right now and move down the street, where they will treat me like an orphaned kitty and give me cream in a saucer. If that happens, I will never even think of you. That’s how much you mean to me. Food or no food?