| I've said it
before, I'll say it again. We had no pride whatever. No pun was too
useless or corny for us to thrust into print. No lack of finesse was
beneath us. On the other hand, we had space back then to promote our newspaper, and we did it with abandon and humor. We used pretty girls, pets, and kids as snags for readership and that's a trick long overdue for rediscovery. |
| He was scruffy and tough, and "Rags"
was the only name that could have fit. A mean little sucker when we first met, but no wonder: He had been abandoned in an old cluttered house way out in the country near Greeley Colorado. He wouldn't let me pick him up, so I lured him into the back seat with a half a sandwich. He stayed with us, Rosalie and I, though he still didn't trust anybody. Among his most distinguishing traits in those early months was his consistent aptitude for farting when he jumped on the couch. We brought him back to Ohio - Rags and four other dogs who had needed homes. But Rags hadn't stopped being ill-mannered and snippy. Against all my better judgment I let my mother and dad adopt him, but I believed that he'd always be semi-nasty bum and eventually would get into serious trouble. They provided him a private chair, more food than any dog could hope for, and unqualified love. Bit by bit, Rags melted and inwardly became a teddy bear. In the end, they provided him a little place of his own in our orchard, one with a concrete headstone. Rags to riches was the story of his life. |