by Tina Blue
January 4, 2004

          My son Michael was telling me a funny story the other day about a friend's dog, an elderly pointer.

          Much of the time the dog stays upstairs at the friend's house, sleeping.  Michael seldom even sees him when he is visiting his friend.

          But last month, as finals approached, Michael was spending a lot more time at his friend's place, because they were studying together for their finals. 

          One late night, they were tired and hungry, but still had a lot of studying to do, so they ordered a pepperoni pizza.  When the pizza was delivered, they put the box on the table between them and opened it up to get at the pizza.

          As soon as the box was opened, so the aroma of fresh pizza filled the house, Michael heard the click-click-click of toenails on the floor behind him. The clicking sound stopped just before he turned around to look.

          The dog was no longer clicking across the kitchen floor.  It had frozen in perfect pointer position, pointing directly at the pizza on the table.

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