“Plaid seats!” she squealed with delight.
“O, darling, you didn’t tell me what a charming little pickup you drive!”
That was the loud, very shrill voice of Barbara, Fleming’s first girlfriend, way back in 1972. Fleming was my owner, and the poor man was forever trying to impress the ungrateful girl. I didn’t mind all the grooming and polishing every time before a date, but if something could’ve been done about that voice, I might’ve forgiven her her smelly feet.