One night at dinner, some friends and I stumbled onto the topic of Hitler. It was posited that Hitler had no redeeming qualities.
One person said "Well, he was kind to dogs."
That person became famous and derided as a Hitler apologist, all in jest of course. The capstone of the ridicule was when the exMrStapler created a birthday present - a book with a fake dustjacket that featured a large photo of the Fuhrer and the title "Hitler: Kind to Dogs."
Yesterday when I was working at home with the front door open, the neighbor's little dog Katie wandered in. This had happened once before. I have no idea how she gets through the fence, but she must get lonely, because she only comes in when her Mom is off at work.
The first time she came over, she immediately hid behind Goldie's bed and stayed there:
This time, she felt a little more at home. She sniffed around a bit, walked into my bedroom, jumped up on the bed, got under the covers and fell asleep.
I left her there for a few hours before I had to leave, then carried her out and put her back under the fence.
It struck me that I must be some kinda sucka. Who lets a strange dog sleep under their covers?
Me. I do. Despite all my other flaws and shortcomings, at least I'm nice to animals.
Let it be known that I want my epitaph to read: She was kind to dogs.