Good girl!

Regular readers of this column (otherwise known as shut-ins) will know that for years, we had a scruffy, disgruntled West Highland Terrier named Harry. Harry and I did not get along, mostly because Harry loved my wife, and I loved my wife, and both of us wanted to spend time with her. Harry saw it as his mission to get there first, and because he was often faster than I was, he’d be snuggled up with her on the couch or bed when I came in the room, growling at me if I got too close. My wife thought this was hilarious, and spent many evenings curled up with the dog saying things like “Who’s my f...