LETTERS FROM HOME: SECRET FAMILY RECIPE FOR FINICKY EATERS REVEALED

Feb. 29, 1996

Dear Pat,

It's a traumatic day on Lorimier Street. Hank and Lucy are due early at the vet's to be "fixed," and DC's worried. Not about anything in particular, just that her pups are having life-altering operations.

With Lucy there was no question about having it done. We signed an agreement with the Humane Society stating we'd have her spayed, and she's such a free spirit she probably won't stop wagging her stub tail during the procedure.

Hank, though, required a decision. Since we found him ourselves, whether or not to have him neutered is up to us.

The vet's all for it, says Hank won't want to roam and probably will live a couple years longer. Guess it's a guy thing, but I doubt whether canis familiaris males like this idea any more than we human ones do. See the story about the inventor of testicle implants for neutered dogs? That's how much we guys don't like it.

My main reservation is Hank's temperament. This is a dog who's afraid of stairs, though just going down. A dog who whines to go outside and downstairs but runs away when you try to accommodate him. How does he react to an operation?

The word is neurotic. We overdose him with love and food. When he seemed to lose his appetite a few weeks ago, DC mixed up an old family recipe, a concoction of mackerel and oatmeal. Stir in a little kibble and the dogs slurp it like rocky road.

Smelly. Smelly would appear to be their favorite food group.

Ever check out the ingredients in a can of dog food? Alpo contains onion powder along with a list of chemicals longer than the Love Canal's. See the story about the tanker truck that left a miles-long trail of animal blood on a Kansas highway? The blood was bound for a plant that manufactures pet food.

Makes mackerel and oats sound pretty good.

Sometimes Hank almost relaxes. But the worried look is always in his eyes. I wonder if it's the result of some prior abuse or if he was just born that way.

In the first photograph DC showed me of her young self, she and her two sisters -- all of them just tykes -- were sitting in pretty dresses on a porch. One was smiling sweetly, one smiling demurely, and one had thunderclouds in her eyes. "Guess which one is me," she said, smiling neither sweetly nor demurely.

Most everything that can worry a person worries DC, which is why Hank has become more her dog than mine.

She doesn't want to take a vacation this year because she doesn't want to leave the dogs at home.

Like Lucy, I worry about very little. As far as I know, only my mom, DC and our insurance agent are concerned about that.

Hasn't always been case. A long time ago I wrote down a long list of things I was worried about. Can't remember any of them except "Al Haig's revenge." See, there was nothing to worry about.

You know how some cultures don't have words for certain things, like suntan oil or monogamy. I think worry is a word everyone could live without.

So DC's worried. Yesterday she let them run wild through the house...just because. And Hank will begin worrying the moment we get in the pickup. He lies down on the seat while Lucy sits up and looks outside. When we arrive at the vet's he'll be unsure whether he wants to get out of the truck. With prodding, he'll walk inside and sniff the room wall to wall, watching Lucy for any sign of the end of the world.

Then I'll hand their leashes to the friendly receptionist, who always greets them by name.

And until I pick them up to take them home this afternoon, I'll try not to worry. And make lots of mackerel and oatmeal.

Love, Sam

~Sam Blackwell is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.