Love draws on a woman
Nearly all the bad luck in the world.
Cather

I will always remember New Year's Eve in 1950 because that was the night our dog bit Prince Charming.

The dog's name was Junior, a wire-haired terrier with a snappy walk and independent attitude. My mother adored him. Unfortunately for my father, the dog hated every member of his own sex. When he sniffed man, he attacked. My father insisted the dog was inflamed with envy because of early castration. "If you would have let him have one chance at it," he told my mother as she iodined his latest wound. "He'd be fine. But no, you trimmed him when he was barely weaned."

My mother shook her head and applied an especially large glob of disinfectant to my father's bleeding shins. "You are wrong,” she said. "I know all about men. Once they start that business, they can't get enough of it. I fixed him just in time."

"Ouch!" screamed my father "THAT HURT."

"I know," said my mother.

Any member of the male sex who rang our doorbell was at severe risk. "That dog is spoiling my social life," I told my mother when I started going out on dates. "Last month alone, he sliced three shins, got the sleeve of a flannel jacket and turned Jeremy's slacks into confetti."

"Dogs are excellent judges of character," said my mother. "Junior probably saved you from some very poor choices."

"I wouldn't know," I said. "The only thing I've ever said to a young man who crosses our threshold is, "We are insured. And the dog had all his shots."

"You're exaggerating," said my mother.

When I was a senior in high school, my date for New Year's Eve was Jimmy Peterman. He wore round horn rimmed glasses and was so tall; he looked like an owl perched on a matured oak tree. I had a desperate crush on him and when he asked me to join him to welcome 1950; I was on my way to heaven. Then I remembered Junior's phobia. "Do you want me to meet you at the party?" I asked.

"Oh no," he said. "I'll pick you up about seven. We'll have dinner first."

"Do you like animals?" I asked.

"I love them," he said. "And they love me."

"I certainly hope you're right," I said.

Promptly at seven, New Year's Eve, our doorbell rang. I ran to answer the door and my mother galloped after the dog. Junior bared his teeth and growled. My mother tightened her grip on the raging animal and her smile showed definite signs of strain. "He hasn't had supper yet," she said. "Now off you go. Have a wonderful time. "

We obeyed. We dined on prime rib and danced to the music of Sammy Kaye under a canopy of crepe paper streamers and helium balloons. But when the band played "There's No Tomorrow", I realized my mother would be asleep when Jimmy brought me home. "Isn't this a marvelous song?" said Jimmy. "I just love the words. They are so sad they bring tears to my eyes."

I nodded. "Mine, too," I said.

It was five in the morning when we finally climbed the steps of our porch. I unlocked the front door and Junior charged. In seconds, Jimmy Peterman stood before me, his trousers severed at the knee. I watched horrified as the blood trickled down his bared calves and stained the very argyle socks I had knitted for him for Chanukah. My Prince Charming was as good as gone before I'd even received my New Year's kiss. I looked up at him and my eyes filled with tears.

But Jimmy Peterman’s expression showed no trace of anger or pain. He smiled at the snarling dog and reached out to pet him. "CAREFUL!" I cried, but he ignored me.

"Good boy!" he exclaimed. "I've always wanted a pair of Bermuda shorts! There isn't a store in town that makes them long enough for me."

He pointed to his ragged trousers. "See?" he said. "They're perfect! All they need is a hem."

He opened up his arms to hug me and I stood on my toes to receive his kiss. "It's going to be a very happy year," he announced. "And a wonderful summer. Do you like the beach?"

I nodded.

"We can take Junior with us," said Jimmy. "Would you like that?"

"No," I said and I kissed him back.


Love and dignity
Cannot share the same abode
Ovid