Here's a picture of me and my dog Skippy. I'm the one on the left. The original is one of those old... okay, ancient sepia photos from a time long past - somewhat later than Daguerre. Napoleon wasn't long forgotten? It was taken by my doting father in our spacious tenement behind the Ram Realty Company in beautiful downtown Aiken, South Carolina. Yes, there was electricity back then. My favorite aunt, Vonice Hughes, gave me this beautiful puppy, who remained my constant companion for many years. Of course even then I also had a cat, to the consternation of my grandfather.

Sadly, Skippy was run over by a school bus while I yelled at him to chill his vehicle chasing habit. With an attending Baptist preacher, my father and I ceremoniously buried Skippy way in the back of the back yard of my aunt's house. The preacher allowed as how - since I'd asked - there would be no puppies in heaven. Mine nor anyone else's. In retrospect, we should've buried the preacher, and I thought so at the time but decided not to mention it. Any child knows there couldn't be much of a heaven without puppies, kittens and butterflies and the other beautiful creatures that keep this ol' world from being a bigger slice of hell than people have made it into. Anyway, I got a few other puppies, but ever since poor Skippy met his maker I've been a devoted cat person. And not even once have I adopted, or petted, or even given dog biscuits to any Baptist preachers.