Reader Andrea B.'s commentary on the latest Apprentice post raises an important point, and now that I'm beginning to emerge from the initial shellshock I'm able to admit that in truth Stacy was finally showing off some of the annoying quality that everyone has been complaining about for weeks (though I still maintain that her photo notion would have been a goldmine, either monetarily or comically), and her worst sin was her lack of love for the dogs. Had she qualified that by expressing a love for the cats I could have let it slide, but I get the feeling that she might be one of those people that find all animals dirty and smelly and liable to get hair all over your pretty pink pantsuit. My mom falls into that category a little, actually, which is probably why we went through five dogs while I was growing up, because she was always looking for an opportunity to ship them off to the country or kill them outright (Jethro won't stop licking on his paws and they're getting all brownish? Better put him out of his misery.) This is Scamp, a mutt who probably had some border collie or something in him. My cat, Jake, who arrived about a year or so after Scamp had taken up residence, used to run underneath him (when he was kitten-sized), leap up and somehow rotate to sink all four sets of claws into his underside, and then hold on for dear life as Scamp ran madly around the house trying to shake him off. He never really barked at or chased Jake despite this, and I think they had a kind of Marc Antony / Pussyfoot relationship. Needless to say, Scamp mysteriously disappeared at some point around our nation's bicentennial, perhaps to put him out of the misery of enjoying the company of felines.