“How are you doing?” asked Dave Winston, giving Cliff Murray a comforting pat on the shoulder as he sat down at the table at Mabel’s Grill the other morning.
    “Hanging in there,” Cliff said.
    Seeing the questioning look on George Mackenzie’s face, Dave explained “His dog died.”
    “Lulabelle?” George said. “Oh that’s too bad. She was a nice little bitch.”
    “Hey George! Watch the language!” warned Molly Whiteside as she arrived at the table with their coffees just in time to catch the end of their conversation.
    “What? You mean bitch?” asked George. “She’s a female dog.”
    “Oh,” said Molly in surprise. “That’s not the normal way I hear that word used.”
    “What happened?” asked George.
    “You know how she had a bad habit of chasing cars,” said Cliff.
    “Yeah, I slowed down when I saw her coming one day and I thought she was going to answer that question of what would happen if a dog caught a car she was chasing,” said Dave. “She nearly bit a hole in my back tire.”
    “Well she’d been getting deaf as she got older and apparently she was chasing one car in one direction and didn’t hear that there was a truck coming the other way.”
    “Poor thing,” sympathized Molly.
    “Anyway, without a dog we have other amusements these days,” sighed Cliff. “We have this mulberry tree in the back yard and this mother groundhog has been bringing her four babies to eat the berries on the ground.”
    “You’ve got to get another dog, quick,” said George.
    “Jenn doesn’t mind. She thinks the babies are sort of cute,” said Cliff.
    “Ah, yes,” said Dave, “you married a town girl, didn’t you.”
    “I can even lend you my dog for a couple of days,” said George.
    “At least groundhogs will be cheaper to feed than a dog,” said Molly. “Just grass with berries for dessert.”
    “Not if they start munching on his $16 soybeans,” said Dave, grimly.
    “Still, dog food is expensive so you’ll be saving on that,” said Molly.
    “Oh Lulabelle didn’t cost much to feed this time of the year,” said Cliff. “Mostly she ate groundhogs.”
    “The kind she left around the yard to ripen?” wondered Dave.
     “Uh huh,” said Cliff. “I can tell you there was none of that exchanging kisses with Lulabelle this time of the year.”
    “Well are you going to get another dog?” wondered Molly.
    “I’m thinking about it, but it’s got to be a major investment these days. My dad bought tractors for less!”
    “What breed?” asked Molly.
    “Oh I don’t care about pedigree,” said Cliff. “It’s not like it matters – like it was a ram for my flock or something. I’ll take the no-name sort.”
    “The kind you used to pick up for nothing to help some farmer get rid of pups,” said George.
    “Not anymore,” said Dave. “I saw in one of the farm papers that people were selling barn kittens for $500 apiece!”
    George, choked on his coffee. “$500! For a barn cat? Must have been down near the city where people have more money than brains.”
    “One of those towns north of Toronto – Uxbridge or some place like that,” said Dave.
    “Makes me wish I hadn’t neutered my barn cats. I might make a better profit off them than from my cattle,” said George, wistfully.
    “When people are paying so much for pets, it’s no wonder country vets are having trouble hiring vet school graduates,” said Dave. “They can work in some clinic, have all the animals come to them, never have to get up in the middle of the night and drive through a snow storm, and probably earn more on top of it all.”
    “Well,” said George to Cliff as he prepared to leave, “good luck with those groundhogs. And remember, if you don’t want to borrow my dog I can always lend you my shotgun.”◊