Friday, May 15, 2009
My husband told me a little story yesterday about how, when he was young, his neighbors had a teeny dog named Valentine. She was generally very amicable—though a bit yappy, as small dogs are—until you called her “V-tine.” If you called her Valentine, she’d come over and let you pet her. If you called her V-tine, a growl would emerge from deep down in her wee belly and her lips would peel back into a vicious snarl. She’d snap at your fingers until you relented and called her by her rightful name.
Sometimes, and I think this is relevant somehow, her owners would adorn her with a sweet pink bow.