Often there’s a catalyst, a reason why something ends up in print. This article’s reason is Blue, my daughter’s dog. Striking blue eyes. She said she thought he’d grow up to be a nice, normal cow-dog-sized mutt. He hits his back walking under the dining room table and is somewhere well over 100 pounds. After last Tuesday afternoon, his name is Mudd. She was late getting home from work, and the dog was getting more and more anxiously in need of outside facilities.