As a result, I have a dog-car. In fact, in our family, I have the dog car. As in, the only one he's welcome to ride in.
It's easy to identify a dog-car. Let me swipe an old conceit from David Letterman (from his pre-Ernest Hemingway beard) and inform you on how to tell if you own a dog-car:
Top Ten Signs You Own a Dog-Car
10. It is a make/model that is not a two-seater or a high-end sports car. It's some form of SUV with enough room to accommodate a crate (or crates).
9. The carpet contains enough embedded hair to knit a sweater.
8. The glove compartment has a stash of empty poop bags; the console between the front seats has dog treats
7. The license is either LOVZDOGS or the bumper has some dog-related sticker on it. Or both.
6. Opening the door releases the aromatic scent of citrus/lilac/pine-needles, attempting but epic-failing to erase the distinctive perfume of wet dog
5. Somewhere under one of the seats is an errant dog toy. Or if you're really inattentive, an errant toy dog.
4. It may be a payment or so behind schedule, owing to the budget-busting cost of a) canine medication; b) a vet bill; c) show entries; d) compensation for a neighbor's ruined flower beds; e) 2,392 items classified as "dog stuff"; or f) all of the above.
3. The interior has an abstract-art look to it, comprising flecks of mud that were produced after a rain shower when the dog hopped in the back and you uttered the panicked phrase "NO! NO SHAKE! DO NOT SHAKE!" just seconds too late.
2. Despite the number of meals you've eaten while driving, there is not one consumable crumb anywhere to be found. And come to think of it, that used Burger King wrapper is gone, too.
AND THE TOP SIGN YOU OWN A DOG-CAR (drrrrrrum-roll):
1. Windows. Nose-art. 'Nuff said.
