CHARLESTON, W.Va. -- Apparently, the author of that famous children's book was wrong.
Or if they do, some aren't capable of seeing the humor. I pity their poor dogs, which I'm certain are receiving more than their fair share of blame.
For those who aren't falsely disgracing their dogs--especially those who were kind enough to email about being able to laugh over those unpleasantly scented parts of life that I wrote about last Sunday, you're my buds. My people. I've got your back. Well, I would if I wasn't nervous about standing behind you.
The emails after last Sunday's column were so fun, even the haters. It was like reading a play-by-play of a ping pong match.
The first one loved it.
Second one hated it.
Third said I should have my own sitcom.
Fourth proposed removing my fingers so I could never type again.
The back and forth continued at a fairly even pace. In favor. Opposed. Hilarious. Disgusting. Never before have I written a column that provoked such a divisive response. Who'd have thought something as natural as a little air soiling could prompt proclamations of both hatred and love?