They say you can tell a lot about a person by the car they drive. But I think you can tell quite a bit more about a person by their choice of pets (or lack thereof). Of course, it’s not usually within the first few minutes of a conversation that you learn whether someone is a “dog person” or a “cat person”, unless perhaps you are in the pet food aisle of the grocery store.  And really, why does it come down to “dog person” and/or “cat person”? How come we don’t care if someone is a “bird, guinea pig, snake, or goldfish person”? No offense to all of you who have branched out. I took an unofficial poll and found that our company is comprised overwhelming of “dog people”. The most popular breed is the loyal, easy-going and intelligent Lab Retrievers, followed by various breeds of small fluffy floor dusters. It’s kind of interesting that the larger dogs are owned by the gals here and most of the little puff balls are owned by the guys. Could it be that the guys were acquiescing to their children’s and/or wife’s pleas to purchase the most adorable tiny, over priced designer puppy in the whole wide world? And this guy who, in an attempt to remain the alpha male in the presence of his entourage, must act indifferent to the precious little yipper named Pixie so as none of his friends questions his masculinity. But once he’s alone, snoring on the couch on a lazy Sunday afternoon, the dog’s preferred seat in the house (curled up in the crease of his arm) tells a different story. One thing I noticed when talking with everyone here about their pets was their reaction to my questions. Some were excited to tell me about their dog: her name, breed etc. Others were less than thrilled, probably because the animal’s “pain in the rump factor” is outweighing its cuteness. Speaking of pain, I recently became dog-less. He had always been somewhat of a mental case in the five years of our co-existence, but we had an agreement, I’d feed him and he wouldn’t bite me.  But he breached our contract and chomped on my hand when I tried to lift up all 7 pounds of him. Since I’m somewhat intolerant of schizophrenic animals anyway, I decided to give him up for adoption, in hopes that he will find a home where someone has one too many fingers. So now I’m one of two “lack thereof” animal lovers here at Stuckey and Company. I won’t tell you which one of us here owns the only feline, mostly because she hates Elvira the black cat. But if it’s true that you can tell a lot about a person by their pets, then you may be able to figure it out yourself.

Chris B. (Chip) came up with the brilliant idea to form a Stuckey and Company fantasy football league. The brilliant part is, we don’t have to know anything about football to play, which is why so many of us gals are participating. Yahoo figures all the stats and chooses our players. Chip tells me that I have a good team despite the fact that I don’t recognize any of the players’ names (which isn’t saying much). He helped me get rid of a bench warmer and pick up another defensive line for the by-week (which I learned was when my team gets to take a break, despite the fact they get a lengthy hiatus during the off season and receive millions of dollars to do so). Shelli and I are head-to-head this week. She’s already doing some trash talking because she’s winning right now. But one of my guys plays tonight and if he can pull 30 points, I win. The problem is, I don’t know how to earn points. Kyle is on some other leagues and he says points are scored differently on this website and he isn’t sure either. I suppose if I was really “into” this, I would take the time to figure it out, but I’m more interested in results and creaming my opponent. Thus, my team name: CreamyLongJohns…that, and I love a good donut. We have some pretty creative team names around here, some of which I am not at liberty to reveal due to potentially offensive overtones; but take my word for it, they are humorous. Chip’s team (may I remind you is the organizer of the league) is far surpassing the rest of us in unexplainable points so far. Coincidence…I think not! Jerry is pulling up the rear due to his star player, who he points out has several fingers with Super Bowl rings on them, the true Patriot, Mr. Tom Brady blew out his knee and will likely be keeping the bench warm the rest of the season. Talk about a buzz kill. Anyway, there’s a lot on the line here. The winner gets a hokey trophy, perhaps a T-shirt and the best prize of all: bragging rights for the year. It could get ugly before it’s all over. I’ll keep you posted…