Daughter of a Dog

When I was five, and I remember the moment, I was standing in the kitchen, I decided I will never have kids. I was going to be the mother of dogs. I thought my step-father had a great life commuting to an art studio full of drawing pads in Manhattan every day and my mother's life of neurosis in the suburbs completely sucked. My true parent was the family dog, a Scottish Deerhound named Laddie. I would snuggle up to Laddie on his round rug in the gigantic black and white marble tiled hallway, hoping he would adopt me as his puppy.

A few years ago my late friend Charles Sullivan called me up and said Happy Mother's Day you are the mother of art. It was adorable.