They say the camera doesn’t lie. We’re dog people, and these photos prove it. There may have been a random cat-lover somewhere in the mix. Or the rare genetic fluke, like my sister.
She blames the fact that she is not a dog person on the many miserable trips to Florida during the dog days of summer, when she had to share the back seat of the unairconditioned Studebaker with my brother and Lassie, who panted and shed across four states. (It must be pointed out that my sister was not a good traveler anyway, holding the distinction of once getting carsick before they had left the driveway.)
I have another theory. I think the babies got switched at the hospital and my parents brought home the wrong kid. There’s really just no other explanation for the fact that she is not a dog person.
But I love her anyway; that’s what it means to be family. And besides, she lets me bring my dog with me when I come visit — and she did allow her kids to have one. I guess that means she’s a people person. Love you, Sis.