Imaginary pooch is preferred

I know.

You're going to start reading this column and wonder if there's an actual POINT to it.

You're going to say that I've already whined about my dog and how she doesn't love me enough. Even though I'M the one who feeds her. And walks her. And takes her to the dog park where she can re-sniff everything that's there.

(Yes! Sod! I love sod! And yes again! Boy dogs! I love boy dogs! Also telephone poles! I love telephone poles!)

Keep reading though. I promise there's a point.

So. As I was saying. My dog (to steal a line from a book about snotty cats written by Richard Smith) "just isn't that into me." She'd rather be snoozing in another room while I'm writing columns rather than supporting me like all my other dogs did by lying contentedly at my feet and sometimes trying to eat them.

For a while there I tried bribing her into sticking around with items of food. I thought this would do the trick for sure, because she is HIGHLY motivated by food. We have that in common, my dog and I. We're both highly motivated by food.

Especially if it's MY food.

So yeah. I admit it. I totally did try to buy myself some popularity with her. I'd say, "If you sit by me while I work, I will slip you a little snack," which I always did because I am not the kind of person who lies to dogs except, of course, when I need to. Sometimes you have to lie to dogs when you want them to do something they don't want to do, such as go outside when it's cold or drive to the groomer's and get silly bows in their ears.

Anyway. My dog was always pretty much happy to accept my bribes. But the instant she downed her Scooby-Snack, she'd say see-you-later-alligator and saunter out of the room like she had places to go and people to sniff.

When I realized that things might not ever change, I started lobbying for a second dog. That way we'd have a dog for the kids AND a dog for the mom. I even picked out a name for the new dog. Gary.

At first Gary was going to be a fawn-colored boxer like Prinny, the dog I grew up with. Then he was going to be a soft-coated Wheaten terrier just like my brother John's dog, Finn. And then he was going to be a Shih Tzu just like my friend Meg's dog, Lucy. And then he was going to be a Chihuahua just like Paris Hilton's dog, Tinkerbelle. And then I smacked myself in the head and said OH MY GOSH! DID YOU JUST SAY THAT YOU WANT A DOG LIKE PARIS HILTON'S? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? But whatever.