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The why of it all

Jerry and I recently watched a movie about a dog billed as “worst dog ever.” I don’t know anything about worst dogs, because I think we have the best dog ever. Lucy is the standard by which all other dogs might be judged and is as good natured as a dog could be. She's smart and can do anything. I sometimes wonder why we have been entrusted with her. Except for her occasional dumpster diving in the kitchen trashcan, she hardly ever gets in trouble. But I might know something about having a cat that stays in trouble. You’ve heard it here before. Every decorating decision I make is gridded through how Wilbur would react to it. He eats house plants, regurgitates on rugs, turns baskets into slivers, and shreds the sofa. For that reason, we have denied him access to part of the house. At Christmas, he eats garlands, chews the Christmas tree, and swats so many ornaments off, it takes until February to find them all. At Easter, he steals decorative eggs from containers and chews them t

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