The puppy is love-struck.  She moons around and forlornly rolls her eyes heavenward.  If she could write, she would scribble her beloved’s name on her notebook.  “Oh, Annngus.  Annngus.  I miss Annngus.  When can I see him again?  I wanna call him.  Gimme your phone.”  She snatches the cell from my hand and seems genuinely surprised that she lacks the proper equipment to use it.  She spits out the phone at my feet.  “Call him for me.  Now.”

     “You can see him again next puppy-play-day.”  Angus is a West Highland White Terrier who tried to get up close and extremely personal last week.  Angus is one short dude and his amorous frustrations were a comic Valentine.  Nevertheless, he has been her only boyfriend since she kissed that toad a while back, and she is smitten.  Unlucky in love yet she perseveres.

     “What’s inna-rassal?”  She’s flossing her teeth with the remains of the bathmat.  “They said Angus and me were inna-rassal.”  Flossing complete, she gulps down the knotted terrycloth.

     “In a what?  What’s a rassal.”  Another vocabulary lesson to gray my hair still further.

     “I dunno.  At play-day they said Angus and me were a couple inna-rassals.  Then they giggled.”

     “Who’s they?”  

     “That poodle and her friend.  They’re stuck up.  Do we got cookies?  Are cookies inna-rassals?”

     Angus is a short white fluffy Scot and the puppy is a tall black sleek German.  In the highly prejudiced world of pedigreed canines they are snickered at as an inter-racial couple.   My baby and her cute little boyfriend.  Scorned by society.  What a cruel world.  I try to break it to her as gently as possible.  “The term is inter-racial and it refers to people who look different outside but are the same inside.  The poodle just meant that you and Angus look different outside.”  There.  I think I’m doing well.  I don’t want to crush her sensitive little soul.          

     “But I love him!  He’s one gorgeous hunk.  He’s rich, too.  His mom was old and left him all her property so he has something called trust.  And a big house on the ocean.  And jewelry.  He says there’s lots of jewelry.”   Ah, ha.  Now I see where all this is headed.  The puppy is plying her feminine wiles big time.  Gotta get a sparkly rock on that paw.  Not a trait she learned from me. 

     “What was his mom’s name?”  Could our little Angus be related to the infamous Leona?  I’m beginning to think that if the young lovers can survive the turmoil of inter-racial dating, this may be a winning combo for us all.  I wouldn’t mind an ocean retreat.  I see myself wearing a chic caftan, sipping something tall and frosty.     

     “Oh, I don’t know.  Mrs. Angus.  What do I get when you die?”

     I choose to ignore that last remark.  “Was her name Leona?”

     “Maybe….I’ll ask Angus.  Actually he’s just best friends with Trouble, that’s the dog of the lady who died.  But she says she’ll give Angus lots of money cause they’re best friends, and then when I marry Angus…”

     Oh, that Angus.  Leading my greedy baby on.  Perhaps they really do deserve each other.

     As for me, I’m not packing my beachwear just yet.