Signs of an Animal Rescuer

You have a long list of people you would like to spay, neuter or euthanize.

Yep! My list is long.

The familiar saying - I prefer the company of my animals to many people I know - is definitely true. How many times I've thought "that guy would benefit from a trip to the vet!" And I'm talking about a human here.

The biggest problem with this animal rescuer is that I think in terms of animals. When my daughter got a sore throat she couldn't get over, I suggested she see her vet. "Mom, you're doing it again!" she laughed.

Running out of paper towels is a household crisis.

I was completely serious when I added to my Christmas gift list: a case of paper towels.

My sister thought this sign was hilarious! "Susan, you have a roll of paper towels in every room of your house!" My first reaction was denial, until I looked around. Yep, she's right.

So, of course, I had to make the lens: Paper Towel Holders for Every Room.

I may be addicted to animal rescue, but I'm also addicted to Squidoo. Go figure.

You and the vet are on a first name basis and he genuflects when you enter the waiting room. His Harvard student daughter calls you "Auntie."

One of the BuckHawk Center volunteers gave me a little gift one year. It was a front door mat that says: My vet drives a Mercedes. Ask the dogs.

It's since been chewed up by the dogs, especially after the cat pooped on it.

You not only allow pets on the couch, but guests have to sit on the floor because your dog has "territorial issues."

My living room has three couches. One entirely belongs to the Great Dane.

Frankly, none of my guests want to sit on that couch anyway. You should have seen the butt of those fancy black slacks before I started warning everybody to wear only jeans when they visit.

You tell your children to "heel!" in the grocery store.

OK, this one wasn't my children, but it was my granddaughter. You should have heard the laughter that came from the lady next to me.