A three-legged dog walks into a saloon and says, "I'm lookin' for the man what shot my paw."

I guess my Karma will never recover, but I just can't help myself.

I will now be referring to the three legged dog who lives next door to me as the one-eyed, three legged dog.

Every time I see him, he's missing another part. One more surgery and he will qualify for a handicapped parking sticker.

I have several friends who will be weeping by now--their ego boundaries are so thin that the story of any animal in pain hurts their hearts. But I am happy to report that the one-eyed, three-legged dog does not seem to be in any sort of pain. In fact, when Tawana, Carol, and I ran into him right before his unfortunate de-peepering--even though he looked like that part of CSI from which I must always peek through my fingers--he seemed quite happy and upbeat (notwithstanding his obvious embarrassment at having been caught wearing the dreaded plastic Elizabethan collar).

He's a very nice dog and a pretty good neighbor, as far as the four-legged variety go. But I'm afraid I am going to have to insist that he stay in his own yard, from now on.

At least as long as bits of him keep falling off.