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Roderick de Quincey writes me from Encinitas:
"When you reach my age (I am 87) people suddenly start dropping dead, right and left. Just the other day I was motoring down the Pacific Highway in my Nash Metropolitan when I saw the local lay pastor and his wife, who were hurrying across to the beach, their seven or eight Hungarian Wolfhounds in tow.
"Of course the Mercedes in front of me whacked the Reverend and Mrs. Pastor, while the animals escaped unscathed.
"Poor things,they were taken in by the Humane Society, who will soon, in truly humane fashion, have them all put down humanely. Big dogs are not popular hereabouts. I expect they will come back into style, though a bloody lot of good it will do the Pastor brood."
"When you reach my age (I am 87) people suddenly start dropping dead, right and left. Just the other day I was motoring down the Pacific Highway in my Nash Metropolitan when I saw the local lay pastor and his wife, who were hurrying across to the beach, their seven or eight Hungarian Wolfhounds in tow.
"Of course the Mercedes in front of me whacked the Reverend and Mrs. Pastor, while the animals escaped unscathed.
"Poor things,they were taken in by the Humane Society, who will soon, in truly humane fashion, have them all put down humanely. Big dogs are not popular hereabouts. I expect they will come back into style, though a bloody lot of good it will do the Pastor brood."
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