DOGS ARE SAID to be man’s best friend, but in my case, I seem to be theirs. Whenever I see a cute dog (and what dog isn’t cute?), I approach it and begin my ritual: rubbing the soft , fl oppy ears, scratching under the furry chin, talking in my Minnie Mouse voice. Such a sweet baby, I say, several octaves higher than my normal tone. It’s so hard to be such an adorable puppy, yes it is, yes it is. The owner on the other end of the leash is usually patient, and the pet inevitably cocks its head and, tongue lolling, begs for more.
My neighbor Nancy is the pet parent of an aristocratic standard poodle, Maggie, who, I am not embarrassed to admit, loves me. I go…
