I call them the country cousins, even though they live in the city and should be more sophisticated. My mother ran them through her own version of charm school, but it didn’t take. They’re my brother’s dogs, a couple of American mutts who know how to make a wild time wherever they go. They’re much different than my dog, Chase, a city dog with refined stylings and cosmopolitan tastes. The country cousins have bad habits. They drool, smoke and spit. They chew tobacco. When they ride in the car with the windows rolled down, their heads stick out so far that they nip the ears of people passing by. They make crank phone calls, and don’t use deodorant. They scratch a lot, in the most uncouth areas — it’s not pretty to see. They drip dirt, never know the right thing to say, and generally turn mayhem into an artform. Did I mention they shed like a stormy sky rains, and barbs on their fur stick tight to everything, like Velcro? When the country cousins get dropped off for some reason or other, we have to get ready. We put a big sheet down in the middle of the floor, sprinkle a nice layer of sand to make them feel at home, and buy extra paper towels. We notify the authorities, pre-apologize to the neighbors and do some stretching exercises that were specially designed for such occasions. And then we close all the windows when we go out. We learned … Continue reading City dogs and country cousins