My dog Buzzy weighs twenty-five pounds. Twenty-five nipple-stomping,bladder-compressing, and according to some sources scrotum-squashing pounds. I don’t know how or why he does this, but if he catches one of us stretched out on the sofa, he makes a bee-line for our recumbent body, leaping on our tenderest portions joyously. I don’t know how he’s lived this long, except that by the time we’ve recovered, he’s moved on. He looks sweet, but he’s a killer.