Mike and Animals

Mike has never met a dog he doesn't love.  It can't be ugly, vicious, or neurotic enough to quell his affection.

"I love those two dogs," he said recently--after meeting two new ones.  One was old, deaf and blind; the other "whacked"--meaning dog-nuts, I think.

Lots of dogs and cats are not lovable in the usual ways: affectionate, pedigree-pretty and well-behaved.  But a few people--like Mike, like Linda in Cape Cod, like my late-friend Gary, don't prefer the pretty ones over the ugly ones.  In fact, I think Mike prefers downright ugly dogs most of the time.

He loves San Antonio, but he teasingly calls Alamo Heights "Animal Heights."

"You have to get a permit for a garage sale?"  "The police come by and measure the distance between construction cones?"  He's not accustomed to dogs on leashes and seeing their owners pick up their droppings in plastic bags.

At Brown Mule Farm, his place, neither dogs or people have rules.  They go where they please and they poop where and whenever they please.  It was the same with me when I lived in Helotes--which is actually why I don't have a city dog.  I tried it once with a terrier I named Cooper.

My Cooper, eight years ago, was intended to be my traveling companion--but he failed puppy kindergarten and I failed the plastic bag test and he hated car interiors with a doggy passion, probably due to an unfortunate early visit to a drive-through car wash which terrified him.

Mike is outside now, trying to befriend a stray cat.  If it works, this A.H. cat may wind up at Brown Mule Farm with Mike's menagerie, free and full and happy.