“Hello, dear,” Mom said, not taking her eyes from the menu in front of her. I smoothed my hair with a nervous hand and smiled. “How are you?” “Poor Pericles has a cold. I had to take him to the acupuncturist this morning.” Yes, my mother paid for someone to stick tiny needles in her dog. “In fact, we may have to cut things short today so I can pick him up. Poor baby.” “I’m sorry to hear he’s sick.” God didn’t even strike me dead when I said that either.