i went by and got mitzi. they handed me this little, tiny dachshund and i felt so guilty. i just thought, she's been love-starved. i put her in the car, and i tried to call her name all the way home. she wouldn't look my way. we get home, she jumps out of the car, and the kids come tumbling out of the house and they just scream, "mommy, that's not mitzi!" so of course i dashed in, picked up the phone and called the vet. sure enough, i took her back and got our own fat dachshund. it was none the worse for wear, but that wasn't the only thing. you remember les, my husband. he was a wonderful gardener -- gardening was his hobby; he was a reporter. but he was dying to have st. francis assisi in the garden. so again i was dashing home from the white house, the night before easter. i ran by the nursery and there were all of these men in sandals and long hair, and i grabbed one in a hurry, hopefully not by the neck, took it home. the kids again said, "that's not francis assisi. that's jesus." well, brian, i'll tell you, you cannot take jesus back. there is no way. i still moved j