Dog Gone It

For the fourth time this week, Mom has brought up the subject of how much she doesn't want a dog. This isn't something new. She says it at least twenty times a year, every year, for the last dozen years. Yesterday I asked her why she always said that, and she replied that she didn't want anybody giving her a dog.
Dan's birthday is this week which reminded her of how Mike stayed home to deliver Irish Setter puppies the same day. She thought the dog was Daisy, but I was pretty sure it was Milly or Molly. She allowed she had pleasant memories of the dogs she used to have, but sure is glad she doesn't have one now.
Remember that old Uncle Remus tale? Brer Bear and Brer Fox caught Brer Rabbit, and they were going to do something awful to Brer Rabbit.
“Anything,” Brer Rabbit pleaded, “only don't throw me in the briar patch.”
As the story ends, Brer Rabbit is thrown in the briar patch, and he is delighted.
So now I wonder, maybe Mom's briar patch is a dog.
Just teasing, Mom. I never had any intention of foisting a dog on you. So if one shows up on your doorstep, it wasn't me.
Nancy Sherer