by Gordon West

Drooling backdoor dogs once conjured feelings of unconditional love, compassion. That was before Henry, the yapping Rat Terrier/Hell Hound mix given to me by a truly annoying aunt. "Unintended aspirations" is what I coin events that aren't desired, but are dealt with somehow, assuming that fate planned them for us. I unintentionally aspired to being a speech therapist, foregoing Hollywood dreams. Yesterday, Henry unintentionally aspired to being a casserole. For my aunt.