We have a pup that likes to eat shoes.

He isn’t discriminating. Most any shoe will do. Sneakers and heels, slippers and boots-he seems to find them equally tasty. But to find a pair of unguarded flip-flops-that is his creme de la creme. He dines on them with great relish (and sometimes, great mustard). It seems no matter how well we hide them or how high we hang our cheap summer shoes, our wee pooch can sniff them out whenever he’s in the mood for a snack.

Recently, the flip-flop pickings were especially easy for him. I was packing my suitcase, distracted and hurried, trying to leave town for the weekend. Finally ready to go out the door, I went to step into my shoes and found the entire right big toe section of pair #144 was gone.

Not wanting to delay my departure to search for less digested footwear, I put on the shoes anyway, thinking I’d simply stop at a Kmart or another cheap shoe place along the way.

Several times over the course of that weekend, I went searching for shoes. In this, the blessed Season of Clearance, I expected to find a great bargain. For a skinflint like me, full-price would never do. Yet the flip-flops pickings were slim. Only strange colors and odd sizes remained. (I briefly confused one oversized, bright yellow pair for some sort of flotation device. And sadly, the pair nearly fit.)

It wasn’t until, as I was heading back home on Sunday, that I stopped at a Target and found a pair of Clearance Keds that fit both my size and price range. In a hurry, I snatched up the simple, cute shoes-white canvas flip-flops with a fairly thick, padded sole-without trying them on. Since the shoes were attached to each other with a thin, plastic strap, I tossed the shoes, still in their box, next to me in the car.

I was in a hurry to get back to Poca in time to make a 2 p.m. meeting, and I was cutting it close. There was no time to stop at home first. I pulled into the parking lot with just one minute to spare. Not wanting to go into the meeting wearing dog-nibbled footwear, I used my keys to cut through the plastic strap that bound my new shoes, then quickly put them on my feet and made a dash for the door.

Something felt strange. It sounded strange, too. But there was no time for such matters. There was a serious meeting to attend.

Except I quickly learned it’s hard to be taken seriously when one of your shoes sounds like a baby rattle and the other like a dog’s squeaky toy.

With each step, my left foot gave off a loud, “SHUSH!”, which it followed with a sound that was something like rocks in a hubcap. Then my right foot went “Skwee-KEEEY.” Imagine, if you will, a mouse with a microphone that’s being squeezed and goosed at the same time.

Heads turned. People chuckled. With as much dignity as I could muster, I pretended the sound effects weren’t coming from me.

There was a time during the meeting when I would have liked to have stood, but seated, I stayed. And there was a time when all those cups of coffee I’d consumed during the drive made themselves known in a most uncomfortable fashion, but knowing my shoes would cause too much disruption, I forced my molars to swim. Once the meeting had ended, I wanted to leave, but too many neighbors were still milling about, so I waited at my table until nearly all were gone. When the largest quantity of witnesses had dispersed, I headed out to my car.

Shush-rattle–skwee-keeey!

Now fully aware why the shoes were only four bucks.

FOOTNOTE: Once home, I took off the shoes and gave them to our pup. He looked confused, even backed away a few steps, apparently believing it was some sort of trick. Try as I might, I could not convince him the shoes were a gift. Finally, I put them back on and started to walk. The sound caused our pup to tilt his head way left, then way right. And then pounce.

Then those shoes got what was coming to them.

I promised my daughter I would.

Tuesday was Murry’s 4th birthday, so Celeste and her friend Dani made him a cake (Pedigree canned dog food with Cheese Whiz icing and rawhide candles).

I wasn’t home to see it, so they took these pictures for me.

(The Cheese Whiz flames on the candles were a nice touch, don’t you think?)

A few scenes from the dog swim/costume contest/pet tricks contest this past Saturday in Kanawha City. We had a great time. There weren’t many participants in the contests, but plenty showed up for the swim. The dog in the swimsuit was hilarious–from the back, it looked like it was wearing a thong. The one on the right was supposed to be Flower, the skunk from Bambi, but as soon as her owner (Gazette lifestyles editor Rosalie Earle) put the whipped cream down her dog’s back, she shook it right off.

(That’s Celeste and her pup, Chewie, dressed as WVU and Marshall football players.)

Below is the winner of the pet tricks contest. (Sorry–I don’t have that name.) This dog was too cute. There was maybe an inch or two of water in this container and this dog, who was much bigger than she looks in this picture, climbed right in, walked in circles for ages, then finally curled herself up like this.

There will be another dog swim on Saturday, September 9 (10 am to 5 pm) and on Sunday, September 10 (3 pm to 7 pm) at Cato Park Swimming Pool. The event is totally free, but they’re collecting supplies and food to donate to the Kanawha-Charleston Animal Shelter.

The email wasn’t meant to make me feel better about my own job, but it did.

“The next time you’re having trouble coming up with a story, go to www.tipthepizzaguy.com and do a little research,” wrote a local pizza delivery person recently.

The writer then shared a typical day of searching for homes without numbers or porch lights, of dealing with people who send children to the door to pay to avoid tipping, of waiting for ages while those who ordered loads of food search under couch cushions for change to pay the tab.

Mostly, though, the driver was upset because many people want food delivered right to their door, but don’t bother to tip.

Since I’d never given much thought to such things before, I took the emailer’s advice and visited tipthepizzaguy.com. I was soon sucked into the site. It felt like I’d stumbled into a secret underworld of pizza delivery people.

The site has an interesting message board for venting and scads of delivery stories that give insight into a world most have never thought of before, a world where many customers try to get something for nothing, where they try to con drivers into giving them rides or picking up other items while on the way to their house, where they get hit on and hustled and hurt. (According to a 2006 Washington Times article, being a pizza delivery driver is the fifth most dangerous job in the U.S.)

“By having us deliver pizza right to your house,” the driver wrote, “you don’t have to use your own gas or your time, you don’t have to find a parking spot or stand in line, then try to rush home before the pizza gets cold. Instead, you can spend the time doing chores or playing with your kids while your pizza is being delivered-nice and hot–to your door.”

With gas prices nearing $3 a gallon, many pizza chains have added a delivery charge to the bill. Many people (myself included) thought the new delivery charge was much like the automatic gratuity many sit-down restaurants add to make certain their waitstaff doesn’t get stiffed. “A lot of people think the delivery charge is my tip,” wrote the driver. “They believe that since they are paying $1.50 for delivery, that should be enough.”

Although some chains do share a small part of the fee (up to 20 cents), the surcharge covers the store’s increased expenses for ingredients, their escalating per-run cost, and their insurance. The one making the delivery isn’t the one who gets the so-called delivery charge.

Delivery drivers are risking their cars and lives, but just like waiters and waitresses, drivers are paid under minimum wage because most of their pay is supposed to come from tips.

One lurker at the site complained that delivery drivers don’t deserve the same percentage as waiters because they don’t seat the customer, refill their drinks, or do anything but bring the order, an opinion which prompted the webmaster to create an impressive chart with side-by-side comparisons between the two jobs.

“About half my customers did not tip,” wrote the driver who created the website. “I was courteous and always thanked them for ordering. It was surprising so many didn’t tip, yet they would smile, chat with me and express thanks. A few even called me their favorite driver. That led me to believe there was a general level of ignorance in the public. They simply didn’t know about tipping.”

The site recommends a $2 minimum tip, increased for bad weather, long distance, or if it takes a long time for you to complete the transaction. (If you still think tipping isn’t necessary, go to the site and read what can sometimes happen to the pizzas of those who make a habit of stiffing the drivers. It’s an appetite killer.) In a nutshell, if you can’t afford the tip, you can’t afford to have the pizza delivered.

Among the strange observations about tipping was that the best tippers tended to be those who order veggie pizzas, with meat lover types generally being the worst.

Other notable suggestions:

* It’s ok to add the tip to the check.

* Avoid paying small tabs with large bills, or with bags of change.

* Give the driver the coupon, even if he doesn’t remember to ask for it.

* If ordering from a business, notify the front desk and make sure your money is ready for the driver.

I have a new appreciation for what those drivers endure. And a new appreciation for my own job, as well. (And, for the record, I welcome tips, too.)

Hot. So hot. Too hot to think.

Why, it’s so hot I just saw a bird using a potholder to pull a worm out of the ground. So hot the trees are whistling for dogs, cows are giving evaporated milk, and farmers are feeding crushed ice to their chickens so they won’t lay boiled eggs.

I don’t do well in hot weather. All these years of living with air conditioning has me spoiled. I’m in awe of those who work outdoors during times like this, when it’s so hot you just want to take off your skin and sit around in your bones.

The weather has made me a slug. Even though I’m in the artificially cool indoors approximately 23 1/2 hours a day, something about this weather leaves me feeling drained. I miss being able to sleep with the windows open and going for walks before dawn. I made it as far as the corner once this week before turning back. It was too muggy and damp.

Before dawn.

You can tell how wretched it is outside without getting near a thermometer. The streets are often as empty as they are in the midst of a blizzard. People are beginning to complain of cabin fever as much as they do in the winter.

I keep waiting for the weatherman-who has to be tired of saying the same thing day after day-to start ad-libbing. Instead of, “It’s 95, but the heat index has it feeling like 110,” I keep expecting to hear, “It’s 95, but I’ll tell you what. It feels like HELL. I just passed Lucifer a few minutes ago. He looked miserable.”

What’s the deal with this whole “heat index” thing anyway? I suppose it’s the summer equivalent to “wind chill factor,” a term sadistic weathermen use when saying “it’s going to be 95 degrees with 100% humidity” just isn’t enough.

The jokes about it being so hot you can fry an egg on the sidewalk are no longer just jokes–they’re inspiration. One industrious woman from Bedford, N.H., made the news last week for baking cookies on the dash of her Toyota Rav4.

(I’m not sure why the big fuss, though. I use my car to prepare meals all the time. I call the technique, “drive-thru window.”)

As a public service, I’ve decided to pass along some of the best tips I’ve collected for how to survive during this dangerously hot summer weather.

* Purchase a Celsius thermometer to enjoy summer temperatures that rarely exceed 35 degrees.

* If you have to sleep with the window open, stretch a damp sheet across the window.

* Wear your clothes wet, straight from the washer.

* Wear your underwear wet, straight from the freezer.

* Play Christmas music. (It probably won’t make you feel any cooler, but the annoyance factor should distract you.)

* Duplicate the effects of a fan by deliberately aggravating those who talk with their hands.

* Block as much sunlight as possible. Room darkening shades are excellent. Eyelids also work well.

* Slip an ice cube down the back of a child. (I guarantee the child will “repay” you a dozen times over.)

* Move slowly. Very slowly. In fact, just stop moving altogether until this heat wave is past.

(Thanks to “Southern Miss” for sharing her “It’s so hot…” collection.”)

I just clipped the Grand Avenue cartoon in today’s other paper. It shows two kids talking to each other in the pool while their grandmother sits in a lounge chair.

“Why is it that adults don’t swim when they go to a pool?”

“Come to think of it, why don’t they swing when they go to a playground or climb trees when they go to a park?”

“So much for getting older and wiser.”

“Remind me never to act my age.”

Just last night, I was accused of not acting my age. Now I realize what a compliment that was. Celeste, Jordan and I had gone to see Monster House, then ran over to Walmart afterward to get cat food. As we were crossing the parking lot, the two of them were slightly ahead of me with a perfectly placed puddle in between.

I couldn’t resist.

When my big feet splatted down in that puddle, water went everywhere. (heh heh)

They complained at first, of course, but then the three of us hit every other puddle there was.

My girl is happy. She finally has her braces. In June, her orthodontist (Craig Miller, DDS) put an expander in the roof of her mouth, which we had to turn twice a day for ten days. It was amazing to watch her teeth, which had overlapped, quickly spread apart, without once causing her any discomfort. The expander came out on Monday and the braces went on. She chose silver and blue.

I’d like to give a pat on the back to whoever came up with the idea for making braces in different colors. They’ve gone from being dreaded to being cool.

I didn’t expect Sunday’s column (about the policy of giving awards to all children, regardless of whether they earned one) to generate much feedback, but my inbox was surprisingly full. Below is a sampling of some of the emails. (Some replies have been edited for length.)

It’s nice to know there are so many others who feel the same way! Thank you for writing!

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Bravo! (or Brava!) on the messages children are getting today when they receive some award that’s really not warranted. I’m an art teacher in an elementary setting. From Kindergarten to 5th grade, the kids are always exclaiming, “That’s not fair!” about everything. I would have your father-in-laws’ words painted on my classroom wall. One of the side effects from this “giving everyone something” theory is the children EXPECT something special for simply existing. I have students say, “Hey, we were good in your room today” or “I cleaned up my mess, do I get a treat?” My response is “You did what you were expected to do, so NO. I didn’t maim any of you today. Do I get more on my paycheck?” I tell them their treat is knowing that they can behave like human beings and live with themselves as well as others. I can count on a few parents to inquire as to why their child did not get to participate in a special project. It’s usually due to lack of responsibility with materials or behavior that requires an extra person in the room just to simply keep an eye on their child for inappropriate behavior. I even offer the invitation for the parent to be there with their child that day in order to participate. Has that ever happened? No. We’re raising kids to have lame excuses for no consequences and no expectations to live up to their potential. That’s evident in our society regarding the legal system, work ethics, etc. Now, we have parents crying “it’s not fair” that they have to be involved with their kids education and child-rearing. Ugh. ~CC

As I watched parents bring their kids to school, I thought, “No wonder we’re raising children that don’t know how to function.” They drive them to school, they carry their backpack, they walk them to class. Being a parent is without a doubt the toughest job a person will ever undertake, but many take it so lightly. We see those little babies and allow our hearts to overrule our heads. ~DH

I enjoyed your column. The trend not to make children work to achieve to the best of their ability cheats them in preparing for the skills they will need to succeed when they have to make career choices. The theory to make everyone feel good lowers the standard to encourage mediocrity and indifference in all phases of life. ~CT

Right on!!! My wife Peggy and I very much appreciated your excellent viewpoint. You have touched on something that has reached new heights with families, organizations and those that envy America. This would be an excellent study for someone or maybe even a book. This goes along with the ‘there is more where that came from’ throw-away and the ‘you owe me’ society. My parents were very good to me as a kid growing up in the Kanawha Valley during the 30’s, 40′ and 50’s. We were taught by example to earn our way in school, at home and in life. Thanks again for your stepping forward. ~KL

This was not your funniest column, nor the saddest one, but it has to be one of the BEST ones! Everything you say is so true and needs to be shouted in schools and on sports fields. If I still attended PTA meeings, this column would be handed out at every September meeting, but, praise the Lord, I graduated from those over 25 years ago. Keep up the good work. ~JP

I read and agreed with your column. One of my pet peeves is the birthday party treat bag where the guests get more stuff to take home than the gift they brought to the party! They lose the spirit of giving in lieu of seeing how much stuff is for them in the treat bag. I’m in favor of just celebrating someone else on their birthday with nothing in return except the party (heaven forbid!!). And if it’s your child’s birthday on top of all the planning and expense of a party, you have to be sure the treat bags meet the “standard.” ~CMM

(NOTE - this is another column I’d like to write someday. I refuse to do goody bags at my daughter’s birthday parties and wish more parents would do the same. The last thing we need in our house is any more stuff, and for kids to think they’re going to get something just for coming seems wrong. The party for their FRIEND should be enticement enough.)

You know how some dogs, when they find something dead, they just HAVE to roll in it until they’re good and thoroughly stinky? Well, that’s what our pup just did. Except the dead thing he was rolling in was a basketball bug. About the size of a comma.

In some soccer coach’s basement there is a little gold trophy with my daughter’s name inscribed near the base. We never went to the post-season party to pick it up, never attempted to get it some other way. She didn’t deserve it. And didn’t want it. She hated soccer. She hated the uncomfortable shin guards, the goofy socks, and the boring black shoes.

She didn’t like practice and she passionately–fervently–didn’t like games. Still, for completing the season, they wanted to give her a trophy. I couldn’t understand why. To my mind, if you start, you finish, and that gets an “atta girl”–not a trophy.

I recently shared a waiting room with two mothers whose conversation seemed to be about how life wasn’t fair. One was complaining her son wasn’t allowed to go on a field trip reserved ‘unfairly’ for high-achievers. She admitted her son made little effort to earn a spot on the trip, but in her eyes, it was unfair that others were rewarded while he was not. The other mother was upset because her son had received a failing grade for falling asleep in class repeatedly. “It’s not fair,” she said. “He turned in most of his assignments.”

So let me see if I’ve got this right: Doing most of the assignments should be good enough to give her son a pass on that sleeping-in-class thing? Has our society become so obsessed with fairness that we’re raising children to believe everyone should be treated the same, regardless of effort or talent or skill? Life isn’t that way. Life isn’t always fair.

When I mentioned this to my husband, Geoff, he told me about when he was a teenager. He was from a blended family–his father, who had two kids, married a woman with two children of her own. The two oldest boys were just entering their teenage years when they met. They were both used to being the oldest. The two younger were used to the slight privilege younger siblings sometimes receive. As you can imagine, cries of “That’s not fair!” were soon commonplace. Geoff’s father, Winston, sat all four of them down and said essentially this: “On any given day, life isn’t fair. That’s the way it goes. But we hope that in the long run, everything evens out. Live with it.”

I fear we’ve become so obsessed with fairness that we’re raising a generation that believes they’re entitled to get the same as everyone else. But life isn’t that way. By trying to run our schools and after-school activities counter to reality, I think we’re doing a disservice to our children.

I’ve sat through awards assemblies where every child received some recognition. I’ve attended sporting events where every single participant carried out a big trophy. And every time I see it happen again, I shake my head.

The trophy is devalued. The certificate is nothing but a piece of nice paper with pretty type fonts. It means nothing. Costs nothing. In the quest to make everyone equal, to make everything be fair, no one is special. In an attempt to bolster self-esteem across the board, we seem to be saying esteem is valued more than hard work and achievement.

High self-esteem and low achievement are not a good mix. Research is now showing that exact combination leads to children who bully and engage in criminal behavior. Unrealistically high self esteem combined with low actual achievement leads to an exaggerated sense of entitlement, and is more likely to lead to frustration and aggressive, antisocial, and even criminal behavior. If we want to breed a generation of self-important criminals, the way to do it seems to be to reward everyone–fairly–for the most trivial of accomplishments.

I imagine there are many (especially trophy salesmen) who won’t agree with what I say, and that’s unfortunate.

I believe we need to challenge our children to excel and reward them when they do something especially well, but kids need to know they’re valued regardless of whether or not they win a prize. Sure, it would be nice if everyone’s special talent or skill could be given equal time, but it’s seldom that way.

That’s life.

I only have a few trophies from when I was growing up, but I earned them. And they meant something to me because of that.

I hope someday I’ll her my daughter say, “Look what I won!” instead of her usual, “Look what I got.”