The house in Mississippi where I spent the first four weeks of my life was run by dogs. There may have been a person’s name on the mortgage, but there was only one of her and over 80 of us, so who do you think was really calling the shots? I found out later that our person was what is known as an “animal hoarder.” I was not aware of this at the time. I just thought it was a party that had gotten a little out of hand.
Pandemonium broke out when the men with cages arrived. At least a dozen dogs all thought they were pack leader, so there were a lot of conflicting instructions.
Meanwhile, my mother trotted happily toward the men—she was friendly in the extreme, and not terribly bright, which explains why she had borne six litters of puppies.
My father lifted me by the neck and pulled me through the chaos to the kitchen pantry.
Choo Choo
