The Hatcher’s were an older couple my parents drug me, unwillingly, to visit on occasion.  They were our next door neighbors.  I was very young.  Kindergarten, maybe? There is something about a certain kind of matchy-matchy polyester older couple that you just sense that they are far too proper to act out around.  There were no toys.  The conversation was adult and far too long.  I was a shy, quiet child and hated these visits.  

I remember that they had a backyard and covered carport that we could enter near a crab apple tree from our driveway.  I also remember that they had a German Shepherd.  As a third grader this dog was huge and intimidating and a pup still . . . so, very active.  And it’s name was Princess.  Sounds just like a name an older couple wearing matchy-matchy polyester would choose.  

My mother informed me one day that I was going to a birthday party.  Yay! . . . . .  for Princess . . . Boo!  A birthday party for a dog?  I had never heard of such a thing.  Even at the age of a mere fry I knew that wasn’t right.  

It got worse.  Princess had been signed up for the Burger King Birthday Club. It was a theme party?   I wasn’t signed up for the Burger King Birthday Club.  I went.  I was terrified.  I was bored.  And who got to eat the burger?  Princess.