I was in the process of adding trimmings to my Santa suit when the call came from the Humane Society. The pregnant dog that I had asked to care for three weeks ago had finally arrived very pregnant, and they advised me to bring the bitch to me as soon as possible before she started pounding puppies all over the place. I threw an old quilt in the back of my van, and then when my friend Diana came by I threw it in too.
“Where are we going?” She asked.
“Humane Society, I have to pick up a very pregnant bitch.”
“Very pregnant? Is that why I am there, so when it starts, I can drive while you are, you know? “