I cannot spell "asthma".

I think our dog is asthmatic. Not in a hypersensitive, oh-my-goodness-he's-breathing way, but because he WHEEZES. I have taken on the now-loud burden of taking Scout on a walk every afternoon, and the steep hill by our house provides a lovely rhythm that perfectly complements our-neighbors-who-play-classical-music-at-all-hours-of-the-day, I-think-even-when-they're-sleeping's current selection, whilst everyone else makes darling flower arrangements. . . oops. Got off-topic. As I was saying before, Scout may be asthmatic. And I am definitely not buying him an inhaler. I love you, Scout, but I think you'll be fine.

When mentioning this to my mother, I asked why it seems nowadays that EVERYONE has asthma. My friends, the weird people who play sports, random people in the hallway. . . yup. My mother then suggests that some people think that it is because children are not exposed to enough dirt. To which I answer, at least Peter will never get asthma.

For you see, back in the days of toddlerhood, Peter would take a shovel, tighten his spit-bandana, and go down to bang on the "smokedirt". Also known as "whacking your shovel into dry clay by our basement". As a wee lad of two, he prevented the house from being remodeled by wailing "Nooooo! My smokedirt!"

This befuddles me, of course, because Scout goes outside for many hours. Every day. For his entire life. He shouldn't have asthma.