D is for Dog. Make no mistake, we like dogs too. Enough that we know they take more time and attention than a cat. They have to be trained and walked and groomed, in ways that Moby will never need. If we ever find ourselves in a house, or an apartment with enough room for a dog, them we may well find a dog to share our lives with. We have both developed a soft spot for the greyhound rescue dogs that are shown at street festivals here. We suspect, although we aren't prepared to test the theory, that Moby would be tolerant of a large, docile dog. In the same way he is fine with the pleasant small children belonging to or friends.
He's certainly fine with Gromit.
I've written of Gigi, my aunt's black poodle, that never thought herself a dog, but only loved chasing her ball. Which I would throw for her almost as much as she wanted.
So for all you who have lovely dog friends, you are most fortunate. As are they. Bryn, Mol, Porridge, Jess' Dog.
Those are the regular dogs here. I'll gladly add anydog else.
Like Harry. Quite the charmer.
Oh, and Chuck and Coco, over at Dooce. She doesn't read here, but I visit her hysterical site every day.