This is a guy I've been hanging out with since October 2000. One of his favorite culinary delights is mierde del gato. He has amazingly direct ways of introducing himself to people and animals from which we could all learn.

Kirby (named after my favorite baseball player, Kirby Puckett, who led the Minnesota Twins to two surprise World Championships) has interesting ways of getting into trouble, like the time he hopped on the shift and put my car into neutral just as I was entering an intersection. Kirby doesn't bark often, only a handful of times since I got him - but he picks his spots carefully. One evening he decided he didn't like the statue of the founding fathers of TCU and barked at that; when the statues wouldn't leave Kirby alone, he finally ran off to get away from them. On many occasions plastic garbage bags have alarmed him, causing little surprised barks.

It doesn't take much to spook poor Kirby. I was once walking along a sidewalk when a couple of joggers approached. Kirby had an attack of paranoia, thinking they were after him - so he ran the other way with tail between the legs. Each time he turned to update the status of the situation, he found that those joggers were still after him, so he kept running. It was more than 20 minutes before I could track down the poor dog.

When I return from work in the evening, I can easily see that Kirby has been at work: his toys are scattered all over the floor and I count myself lucky if he hasn't remembered how much fun it is to unwind toilet paper. His favorite toys are squeaky balls that he will happily entertain himself with. Of course, he prefers it if I'll play tug of war with one of these slimy balls or if I throw it for him to chase down or (more often) snatch out of the air. I often find one of these treasures tucked under my ear when I awake in the morning.



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