“She’s sick.” Miss Ann confided as she handed over her precious Yorkie I  had just agreed to  responsibility for. “I’m kind of surprised she made it this long. We are both sick and I just can’t take care of her no more. Her medicine costs forty dollars a month and I just ain’t got the money.”. My heart fell. “What’s wrong with her?”

“Irritable Bowel Syndrome,” smiled the vet, mindful that Biscuit’s bowels had already paid off like a slot machine in the seven years Biscuit had been her patient.

Miss Ann sure knew how to hold her tongue till the deal was done. “Don’t worry. She goes on paper.” not mentioning Biscuit preferred towels, rugs, socks, slippers, dog toys, or whatever seemed expeditious.

Buzzy, my gentlemanly American Eskimo Dog, met us at the back door. She warned him off with a scowl, informing him things were going to be different from now on. When I put her down, she smiled contently and pooped on my shiny hardwood floor. Spotting Bud, she strolled over and daintily pawed his ankle. When their eyes met, true love pulsed beween them.

She shot me a look. “You ain’t woman enough to take my man.”