Dog Talk
I’ve recently discovered something about my relationship with this middle-aged girl: Somehow, after almost eight years of ownership, I have become mildly allergic to my beagle. I’m pretty quick, so it only took three good instances of me sitting on the “dog’s” ( shudder ) chair and cozying up with the blanket she artfully arranges for herself each day on said chair ( shudder turning to eyes-rolling-with-nostrils-flared ) and then feeling the urge to repeatedly rub my eyes and verily shaking the house with my sneezes to sleuthily cement that conclusion. I did say my beagle, didn’t I? Well, let me tell you, if you happen to be one of the few to whom I have not yet relayed this key info: I did not choose her. She was my birthday present. Tiny and adorable and the best birthday present a husband who always wanted a beagle could give. She is Beatrice: affectionate, smart, bossy, slothful. And mostly a pain in my ass. Maybe it’s my kind-of rural upbringing at play but, wh...