And then I was face to face with my son. I had been across the table form him at dinner, but this was somehow different, very different.“Hello, sir,...�� said my beautiful boy.“Well, and hello to you too, Ronald,” I said. He was skittish, but he came to me and gave me a not too enthusiastic hug. Well, I was used to that from adults let alone a seven year-old boy who was seeing a monster in front of him. It was clear to me that he wanted to be anywhere but with me.After the hug, he retreated to his. I nodded agreement.I asked Sylvie Torquist about Stormy’s parentage. The critter was growing by leaps and bounds, and I was wondering where it would stop! Marilyn and I listened in horrified fascination. Mama, who I had hoisted out of the basement, was mostly Golden Retriever, but an Irish Wolfhound had snuck in somewhere down the line. Papa was the St. Bernard next door, who had managed to jump the fence and find true love. I looked at my wife and remarked, “This thing is going to grow up. More

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