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Revolution Flea Medicine

Last spring, my son Pete wanted a dog in the worst way. He was 7-1/2, the perfect age for wanting a dog. Still, he's the kind of kid who throws his dirty underpants on the floor 6 inches away from the centrally located clothes hamper. He might not be ready for the responsibility. If we got a dog, you can bet that mom and dad would be doing most of the work.

Besides, we already had two cats, a middle-aged tom and an ancient female who came to live with me back in my dating days. Ol' Helen Pussycat found me in January of 1987 by poking nosily into a rehearsal for a show I was ...