After I got divorced eons ago, I contracted some weird bug. For the last fourteen years, I went from doctor to doctor seeking a cure. I was prescribed a myriad of pills, suffered through physical therapy, had x-rays, MRI’s and CT scans. I got weekly shots for over two years, and I spent another three years lying on a shrink’s couch. Nothing seemed to help.

Finally, I became a patient of an astute physician. Dr. JA, and no, he’s neither a jackass, nor a quack. He’s got an MD behind his name. After two office visits he diagnosed my illness. “Sue, I’ve thoroughly researched your symptoms and believe I have discovered what’s wrong with you.”

Oh, ye Gods! I’m probably dying of some rare, alien disease that is the second recorded case in America.

“What you have is quite common in women your age.”

Oh, no. I have osteoporosis. I have Alzheimers. Or maybe something worse.

“You tend to like dogs.”

“Of course, doctor. They’re better than cats, and they don’t sit on my dining room table.”

“And currently, how many reside in your house?”

“Uh, let me think. Seven currently.”

“Currently?”

“Yes. My friend, who’s my age….”

“You mean elderly?”

“I prefer to call us contemporaries. Anyway, her kids have decided to move her across the Mississippi near them. They supposedly want to keep any eye on her. In other words, they want to keep an eye on their inheritance! They don’t want her taking up with some swain who steals all her money.”

“I see, and your point?”

“She has two shih tzus. You know the ones with attitudes, and she can’t take them with her.”

“So, you’re taking them? And then you’ll have nine dogs?”

“Hell, doc, who knows? Did you ever see the movie, Cheaper by the Dozen? But enough of that, you said you have diagnosed my strange disease. What is it?” I held my breath.

“Many Paws.”*

Haha!

(My apologies to The Good Old Days)