Forget the six-toed cats

When I was a junior in high school, we had a dog named Whiner. Whiner loved to run out the front door and skeedatle on his merry way. One afternoon as I was walking back from my friend Letty's house, I met my father outside.

"Have you seen Whiner?" he asked.

I must have been in a good mood, for I was rather cocky when I replied, "Who knows for whom the dog strolls? He strolls for he."

It was a damn good thing that the old man liked Hemmingway. He and I both remember that story to this day.