“She barked at me,” Mama said haughtily. The she Mama was referring to was Doodle. Doodle, Boo, Boo-Anne – the little pittie mix has several different names to go along with her various attitudes. And her attitude this time was full of sass. “She doesn’t know to bark,” I replied. She doesn’t. Her main defense was just looking at something real hard as if her stare was intimidating. So far, it had worked with the garbage men, FedEx, and our mail lady. All of them had grown accustomed to seeing the little caramel colored pibble in the window, her steady gaze warning them of impending doom at the first sign of a threat.