Happy Tails

Introducing…
Hank, Terri, Ron, Munchkin, and Sissy.
Dog, Mother, Father, Baby, and She-Devil Cat-from-Hell.
Notice the structure of this family. Memorize it. Never forget who’s the boss and we’ll get along just fine.
Ready to learn more?

Hank
Ever since our gifted species crawled near your campfires, we of the canine persuasion have been trying to communicate with you. In my own pack, I’d almost given up hope. It’s incredible to think that ye of such impressive cerebral cortex could be so hopelessly ignorant about your most loyal of companions.

I know you love me. Putting fake antlers on my head at Christmas is a sure sign that you think I’m a member of the family, but can you honestly say you understand me? Can you tell by a simple tail wag if my inner pup needs attention or if my bladder is nearing capacity?

If not, keep reading. If so, keep reading anyway. You’ll be sure to see yourself—and your pup—on some of these pages.

Terri
The best thing about Terri is that she’s easily trained. She’s the one to feed me, check the water bowl, take me to the vet, and let me walk her. All I have to do is utter the meekest whimper and she’s looking for clues, wondering what I want.

Terri’s into home décor—shabby chic with a touch of feng shui, to be exact—and her only vice is sneaking a handful of Hershey’s Kisses around 4:00 every afternoon. She likes to work out to yoga tapes, which makes for interesting viewing from my perspective. When Ron’s out and the baby’s asleep, she’s apt to curl up with a book and light a half dozen candles. She calls it “aromatherapy.” I call it a good cover for all the lived-in smells I love around here.

Ron
Ron thinks he’s king of his castle. Terri and I know otherwise, but why spoil his fantasy? We let him putter around with his big yard machines and he stays happy. Seems like a fair trade for letting us run the show.

In fact, the yard is his main passion, after chicken wings doused in Rigor Mortis hot sauce. Over the years, he’s stuffed the garage with two riding mowers, a hedge trimmer, leaf blower, weed whacker, edge trimmer, three rakes, and four thousand trash bags he got on sale. He’s also got a good start on his own Ortho chemical factory.

Just one thing, Ron. Dogs and fertilizer don’t mix. This should be a no-brainer, but Ron didn’t think about how I go barefoot… and then lick my paws… and then pace at the door with a wicked case of the runs.