The first time we went walking, Al took us. It was spring and the earth was soft, the trees new green and the path that leads from the street to the football field was a straight, clean line. Al's been walking his dog Dante for years, twice a day, no matter what the weather. I've watched him from my office window. A man and his dog. I envied them…

She didn't get top billing. Actually she didn't get any billing at all. In theater terms, I suppose you'd say she has a bit part. The press release gushes about Bambi and Tootsie and Nicki and Todd. But there's not a single word about Molly. Still, you know the old saying: There are no small parts, only small players. And Molly, when she's on camera…

Their house is immaculate. The floors gleam. The sofa is fluffed. The windows, even the window on top of the door, are invisible. Objects placed on the coffee table - a small vase, a candy dish - are safe where they sit. The living room smells like spring. Flowers are being coaxed in the picture window and the scent of new life fills the house. When you drink coffee or Coke, you don't find a dog hair at the bottom of the glass. When you flop into bed at night, dog hair doesn't float around the room…

She eats things. Not just ordinary dog things like newspapers and Coke cans and gardening tools, which she pilfers from the garage. Not just brooms and rakes and speaker wire and toilet paper and paper towels. Molly's preference is cotton - woven or unwoven, plain or printed, new or old. It doesn't matter. She's into all kinds. Dustcloths and facecloths. Cloths that you use to

She's the dog you can't resist. She does terrible things. She terrorizes the cats. She eats their food, drinks their water, plunks her hulking body in the front hall, and pretends to sleep there until, in need of litter or the great outdoors, they come tiptoeing by.