"Otto, you just called him Otto, Isn't his name Toto", I asked now somewhat confused. Dorothy replied," that's his name, Otto". "But you called him Toto earlier", I responded. Dorothy softly giggled, blushing with innocent embarrassment, like a grade school girl being kissed for the first time by her youthful sweetheart. "I did? It must have been a senior moment. No, he's not Toto. Toto died about 70 years ago. Kind of a sad day when it happened. Died of old age, on Auntie Em's back porch. We were all there at the end; Auntie Em, Uncle Henry, the farm hands-Hickory Twiches, Hunk Andrews, and dear old Zeke." They had all apparently been present as Toto peacefully blew his last life's wind through his "wee" black nose. "He was a good dog," she added. "We buried him in the back near the shed underneath the big oak tree." I imagined his resting spot, deep within the prairie soil with a heavy stone placed knowingly as an eternal marker. He was safe there, not likely to be transported by the indescriminate clutches of a ruthless tornado.

She went on to explain that Otto was from a long line of Toto's male terrier descendants. Otto's mother, on the other hand, was a Border terrier from Topeka, named Jezebel. Dorothy adds, "she, as you folks say these days, 'had an attitude.' " I learn that Jezebel had come to the farm with her master, a local real estate developer shopping for a location to build a giant shopping mall, one of those monstrosities with the endless asphalt parking lot. Dorothy describes, "as you folks might also say these days, the little dog was 'one hot little bitch'. Wanted to make 'amore' with every four legged or two legged creature that walked. Goats, roosters, pigs, you name it. She even went after one legged creatures that couldn't walk. Take old Zeke for instance. Several years earlier, he had a bad stroke. Also lost his left leg to sugar diabetes. Pretty much, he was stuck in his bed oblivious to the rest of the world. We used to put him in a rocking chair on the back porch. He'd sit there never saying a word for hours. One day, I go to the back to check on him. There she was, as you folks might also say these days, 'humpin' his right leg'. Her tongue hanging out of the left side of her mouth, ears flat and turned backwards, eyes rolled up skyward, it looked as if she was at it for hours and totally worn-out. Old Zeke was just kind of slumped in his chair. If he wasn't moaning and groaning, I would have thought he was dead. He had no idea what was happening. He just sat there and groaned,'take me Dear Jesus, take me' ."

Too many questions I had to ask at this point. I had to drop them all and get on to important matters, like how to get home. It seemed, however, that Dorothy was developing a little slippage of the mind that belayed her many years.