1. If you won the lottery (a big one… I'm talking stupid muchos cash) what would you do with the money?
2. After winning the lottery would you work a day job? If so, what would you do?
3. Do you have any auxiliary dogs? Auxiliary dogs are dogs that are not essential to your main purpose (usually tiny, but not always). If you don't have an auxiliary dog what might you choose?
4. Do you have a favorite crock pot recipe (or other recipe) you can share?

So, if I were really stinking rich, I would be a despot and I would get out of the dog thing entirely and move to monkeys. Only reason I have dogs now is because I cannot afford a monkey…nay, 8 monkeys.  They require more handling than dogs.  They want fashion.  They are expensive and moody and throw shit.  All things I could work with, if I had a lot of money and a monkey designer.   We'd still go to dog trials. ALL OF THEM.  I would wait for evolution to reverse itself and be Queen.

I'd have a dolphin, too. I'd keep the dolphin in a specially modified chamber in my home that looked like a moderately priced hotel room with transparent walls and several closed circuit cameras…king sized waterproof bed, flatscreen television, mood lighting, coffee maker, full bar…little soaps ….I'd hire a human female to live with the dolphin.  I'd replicate that experiment in the 60's that John C. Lilly conducted, only this time the girl would be tough and not into dolphins AT ALL. She'd be DIVORCED from the SEA.  She'd be a dolphin nag,

"Pick up after yourself, for fuck's sake, what…were you born at Seaworld?"

"Why can't you do tricks? Margaret's dolphin did tricks."

"EEEee EEEeee EEEeeee…you sound like a goddamn broken record. You are not getting a handjob."

"ANOTHER sardine? How many has this been?"

"I don't care how many tricks you do, you are NOT getting a handjob."

I'd like to see how long until one of them learned to say "YOU LOOK (OR ACT) JUST LIKE YOUR MOTHER!" in the other one's language.  Then the experiment would be over.  I'm not cruel.   Then I'd get a book deal, and the woman would sell her story to some awful supermarket rag and I'd be sued by Everyone… I'd blame the tuna companies.  Those nets.  Monkeys. In the end I'd be poor and Morgan Fairchild (or Charro) would play me in a Lifetime Channel movie. (It's how every scenario of the rest of my life ends, really).

This whole me winning a shit ton of money is a recipe for disaster.  There you go.

I'll always be middle – lower-middle class because I'm stupid with money and careless with my employment. AND I'll always have dogs.  They are more judicious than a monkey.  Just like always being on the verge of poor, dogs will keep me honest.