Ben Beagle

The aging, semi-hysterical retired reporter rides shotgun with the greatest station wagon driver of them all down the rocky road of life. Mondays and Wednesdays, steady as she goes.

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In Our Well-Why-Be-Surprised-At-That? Department we have this morning a credit card application that gives you points for the stuff you spend on your dog.

For example: If you take Old Yellow for the annual visit to the vet at $125, you get 375 points. Those other cruel dog-hating credit cards give you 125 points.

I don't know how these points translate into cash, but I've never been good at numbers. A free kennel cough shot, maybe?

I will have to say here that the last time I took Max -- the hysterical boxer with whom we now have a solid relationship -- to the vet, the tab was a little higher.

Of course, there was minor surgery and lab work and implantation of this thing that'll help us find Max the next time he runs away.

Well, of course we want to find Max the next time he runs away. What do you take us for?

Points or no points, no credit card for Max

I didn't tell Max about it. But I sometimes long for the days when we fed our faithful dog Rexie corn bread-and-beans and leftovers rather than Pedigree.

And Rexie never went to a vet a day in his life, which was ended somewhat heroically by a monumental multidog fight on Federal Street in Waynesboro -- occasioned by a member of the opposite sex.

Anyway, I have been trying to get Max on Medicaid, but I'm afraid to dial the 800 number. I've never been able to do that calculation on dog years versus human years.

And I found out early on that I can't understand a thing those people on the other end of the line are saying. If you can get somebody you can understand you can't understand anyway.

I don't tell Max about it, but I also long for the days before 800 numbers were invented.

I am also not going to tell Max about this item for $50 to get him groomed. Max is excitable enough without somebody mentioning that. I don't care if I get 150 points or not.

I am, however, open to any bids for snipping Max's nails.

Any takers should bring a lot of doggie sedatives.

That dog will throw an average 200-pound adult all over a country kitchen when it's time to clip his nails.

My knee went out the last time I tried it.

If I get this new credit card, I can get Max's picture on it by a process I don't understand.

I'm not going to tell Max, but I really don't want a credit card with his picture on it.