My mother-in-law, needless to say not my best friend, was in her upper 70s. She and my sister-in-law, who was something of an invalid, bought a purebred Cocker Spaniel to replace Spot, the spoiled Beagle. The new dog, a blonde, was called Honey.

Elinor (not her real name) allowed Honey to eat directly out of the refrigerator. Sometimes off the stove or from the top of the dinner table. She'd jump on the chair next to me, and from there to the top of the table. All attempts to push the dog back down failed, and Elinor would shout. She didn't approve of my disciplining the dog. While everyone was eating, my mother-in-law sat in her chair, engaged in conversation, but did not eat. "I picked at things while I was cooking, and I'm not hungry," was her constant excuse.

Once the drinking glass I was given had mud on it. Was it out in the yard with the dog? The food, at times, was extremely unappetizing, so I did not eat either. On one occasion, I saw Elinor take a big piece of chewed-up turkey out of her mouth - probably full of gristle - and handed it to the dog. She didn't know anyone saw this, until I started laughing. Elinor grunted, which was always her reaction to anything I said or did.

Sometimes my husband and I brought our dog, Bingo, over to visit. Bingo and Honey ran circles around the pool in the back yard. Honey struggled to run halfway around, while Bingo, 8 years older than Honey, ran circle after circle, raising her head proudly. Honey would pant and wheeze. 

"You know, Marty," I said. "With that lack of discipline and being so grossly overweight, Honey is suffering physically and mentally. I'm gonna call the SPCA and pretend I'm a neighbor of your mom's, and have the dog confiscated. It's not healthy. " Marty said nothing. And I never made the call.

When Elinor finally died at 83, Marty and I were left to deal with Honey. We brought the dog over to our house for a while. Thankfully, we had a blue dog crate to keep her in. Honey barked viciously and snarled at Bingo all the time, though it was Bingo's house. Bingo did not retaliate, but rather ignored this.

We had a fenced-in yard at our house, but Honey took care of all of her business on the kitchen floor. The few times we got her outside, she peed and defecated on the deck, refusing to go into the yard.

Since Honey was a purebred, we got offers through the newspaper from interested parties. We were asking only $25. People came to look at her, and she growled, barked, and showed her teeth until all of them left. Two old ladies who I spoke with on the phone repeatedly said that they were going to love her so much and take good care of her, but the dog came close to sinking her dingy little teeth into their outstretched hands. Later that night, I received a call from one prospective owner, a pregnant woman. She wanted the dog badly and seemed to know how to handle dogs. "I really want this opportunity," the woman went on, as if it was a job interview. I liked her. By the time she arrived at the house, Honey was calm. All that viciousness had worn her out. She found a new home, a better one. I was thankful for all prospective buyers involved.

I loved animals, all animals, but if there one was animal I did not like, it was Honey. Not only that, I am unwilling to let my mother-in-law rest in peace.