While on a stroll through the park on a sunny day surrounded by sunbathers, Fleegle eyes one woman in particular and says, “She has a dog painted on her leg, and a cat on the other. When she walks I bet it’s a perpetual chase, one leaping ahead of the other.”

“Those are tattoos. They’re permanent. They don’t wear off and will be with her forever.”

“I hope that dog likes cats.”

I say, “I hope the cat likes dogs.”

“Can I get a tattoo?”

“What of?”

“You, of course.” He lifts his paw. “Paint it right on my paw, that way I could lick it when you leave me at home all by my lonesome.” He whines the last bit.

“You’ve learned a new phrase.”

“I have.” He gives me a sad puppy look. “Effective, isn’t it?”

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