I go in for a mole and almost leave with a dog

Fair-skinned people shouldn’t spend a lot of time in the sun and,

if they do, they should expect to suffer the consequences.

After a lifetime on the beach, I have a standing appointment with

Dr. Mailman, my dermatologist. Each month, I go in, and he

unceremoniously hacks off two or three skin cancers. They’re on my

head, my legs, my arms and my chest. About the only part of my body

that hasn’t developed skin cancer is my rear end, which is a good

argument against nude bathing.

I appreciate all Mailman has done to keep me in decent health over

the years, but my real pleasure in going to his office is it gives me

a chance to catch up on Mrs. Mailman and her dogs. Mrs. Mailman works

at the Laguna Beach Animal Shelter. Anyone who works at a shelter

obviously has a soft spot for animals, and Mrs. Mailman is no

exception.

So soft is her heart that on a regular basis -- almost as regular

as my doctor appointments -- she brings home one of the dogs from the

shelter.

This is difficult enough for Dr. Mailman, who hasn’t the same

passion for dogs as his wife. To make it worse, she never adopts

small dogs. There are never fewer than three dogs in the Mailman

household, and every one of them is huge.

As an example, one of her adoptions was a bloodhound. It was a

beautiful dog about the size of a miniature horse. Enraptured, I

decided to take it off her hands. I would adopt the bloodhound.

If I had not been one of Dr. Mailman’s favorite patients before, I

instantly became so. He enthusiastically supported my adoption bid.

My wife was decidedly less enthusiastic. She went around the house

muttering and, since I am hard of hearing, I could only catch a

little of it, something about a dead body.

Unfortunately, Mrs. Mailman was also unenthusiastic. She could not

bear to part with the bloodhound, and so it remained in the Mailman

household.

I was bitten by the bug. I was going to get a new dog, and not

just any dog. A big dog.

Soon, I saw an ad offering a Labrador retriever to a caring

family. I answered the ad, and a woman showed up with a big, burly

black Lab. I instantly said I’d take her, and when my wife got home

from the market, imagine her excitement at this new addition to our

household.

I love to walk, and now I had a dog to accompany me. There was

only one small problem. Maxine, the new dog, was quite good on the

leash -- until she saw another dog, and then she insisted on bounding

over to that dog, dragging me with her.

When she had been with me about two weeks, we were walking in the

grass at Inspiration Point in Corona del Mar, and she saw another

dog. Gathering her large, black body, she lunged for the other dog,

but this time, the leash somehow got tangled in my legs, I went down

and was dragged unceremoniously across the grass, only stopping when

Maxine reached the other dog.

I was not only covered with grass stains, I had suffered a broken

hand. At that, my wife rose up, and Maxine was banished to my

granddaughter’s, where she lives quite happily.

That was the end of big dogs for me. Instead of an 80-pound Lab, I

now have a 14-pound beagle.

Physically, she is a small dog. However, if you know beagles, you

know she doesn’t consider herself small. She probably thinks she’s a

Great Dane. That is, if she even considers herself a dog.

* ROBERT GARDNER is a Corona del Mar resident and a former judge.

His column runs Tuesdays.