Animals have long been a part of human family life. The idea of keeping animals as pets originated in pre-historic times when a primitive man named Thog brought a wolf cub home. His wife, Ulmak, asked him why he'd brought a wolf home, didn't he realize it was going to track mud all over the cave floor? Thog replied that first off, this was a "dog" not a wolf, and the dog would not only help him hunt, it would also provide him with companionship. And besides, the cave floor was dirt anyhow so who would notice the mud? And that's how the domestic squabble was first invented. (It's equally possible the first pet was a saber-tooth kitten Ulmak brought home, "Because it's so cute!" but either way, the outcome remains the same.)

The second domestic squabble occurred when Thog and Ulmak began debating which animal was better. Thog had been making plans to train the dog to fetch a can of beer from the refrigerator so he could eventually make an appearance on Letterman's "Stupid Pet Tricks" segment. Ulmak pointed out that beer, refrigerators, and David Letterman hadn't been invented yet and while her saber-tooth kitten had rid the cave of saber-tooth mice, all the dog had done was dig up the neighbor's begonias. Thog had never cared much for those neighbors anyhow, and so the second squabble got started.

Growing up, my brothers and I never considered the question of which pet was best. We had rabbits, guinea pigs, goldfish, and an assortment of turtles, toads, and even a few snakes. (I doubt Mom will ever forget the snake that got loose in the middle of the night.) But through all this, the best pet of all was definitely our dog, Fonzi.

Equally happy roughhousing or curled up in the one chair he was allowed in (10 years later, we still call it, "The Dog's Chair"), Fonzi didn't ask for much, but was always excited when we'd get back from school in the afternoon. He never held it against us when we tried to feed him sweet potatoes at Thanksgiving dinner, and was always willing to clean up the milk my brother David spilled.

It's been more than 10 years since Fonzi passed away, but his memory lives on in that each of my brothers is now a dog owner. Bill and his family now have two, Shadow and Travis. Steve and his family have Maggie and Wylie (named for his resemblance to a certain coyote in Warner Brother cartoons). David had a black lab named Ajax that he left with friends in Haiti and another named Hamlet that currently resides with our parents.

Always one to be different, I don't have a dog. My constant companion for the past eight years has been a parrot named Terry Dactyl. (For the record, Jurassic Park came out in theaters several months after Terry got her name. Spielberg was imitating me, not the other way around.)

It wasn't all that long ago when David and I had the inevitable debate over the question of "Which pet is better?" Hamlet was roaming the downstairs, exploring his new environment. Terry meanwhile was sitting on her perch in a cage on top of the wrought iron table by the family-room door.

David started off by pointing out, quite correctly, that although they're certainly pretty, you can't get really get into much rough-and-tumble with a parrot.

I countered that if Hamlet tried to sit on David's shoulder, he'd end up knocking him over.

And so it went, back and forth for several rounds until Hamlet walked into the room.

The wrought iron table Terry's cage was sitting on has been in the family for a number of years. It has a glass top, and at the bottom, a ring where flowers pot can be placed. At the time, a large decorative pot was located in the ring with a philodendron growing in it. Mom had put some effort into keeping that plant looking good and had trained the offshoots to run up the table's legs and around the edge.

When Hamlet walked into the room, he made a beeline for the table and without breaking his stride, grasped the plant's tendrils in his jaws and pulled it to the floor.

Surprised by this unexpected turn of events I turned to David and conceded, "You win. There's no way Terry could ever do that."

Surveying the damage, David replied with a note of resignation, "No. You win. You don't have to clean it up."