Luke the Wonder Dog

My dog takes credit for ‘diagnosing’ my brain tumor. My husband and I entered our garage together, but he jumped back. I asked what’s wrong.

“You’re kidding? The stench is unbearable.”

Late August temperatures cooked the bin used to collect the dog’s poop and the lid fell open, releasing a stink.

“I don’t smell anything.”

“That can’t be right.”

My doctor scheduled an MRI that revealed a racquetball-sized tumor between my eyes and olfactory nerve. It was operable and benign. I was lucky.

My dog reminds me at every turn that I owe him my life. He thinks he’s Lassie.

From Guest Contributor Anne Anthony

The Babysitting Job

Lisa had been babysitting for almost two years, ever since she was 14. Never in her long career had she seen anything so disgusting as this.

Little kids will puke and poop and spit and generally make a mess of everything they touch. Lisa was used to all these awful behaviors. She was a pro.

But she'd never seen a baby molt before, yet that was exactly what this toddler was doing. Shedding its skin and revealing a hard layer of scales underneath. Lisa shrieked and jumped on top of the coffee table.

Perhaps the Iguana family wasn't hispanic after all.