The joke in our house has always been that I was a dog in a former life: I have an amazing sense of smell, incredible hearing, and kids and dogs love me. Well, except for the one at the Gottlieb house.

Butterball Gottlieb was a short, high-strung sort who snarled and bared his little teeth at me every week. "It's because you wear hats," his family advised, but nothing changed the one time I remembered to leave mine in the car. There was no way around it: the dog simply hated me.

Ditto for the youngest of my four students there, none of whom practiced very often. At the onset of our lesson, I said, "So, shall we begin?" and she rejoined, "I don't really care." She elevated her chin and gave me a taunting look. The Pippy Longstocking braids definitely belied the demon within this one.

"Why not?" I asked, still in Perky Piano Teacher mode.

"Because I didn't practice at all this week," she said with antagonistic zeal.

Now, with my No Nonsense Teacher Voice, I intoned, "Really? Then whatever shall we do for the next half hour?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. "And I really don't care. I hate piano lessons."

"Really," said I, meeting her defiant gaze with a steely one of my own.

"I also hate you," she added with the wickedest of smiles.

With that, I rose and went into the kitchen, where Spawn of Satan's mother was busily emptying the dishwasher. "Um, this piano lesson thing just isn't working well," I began. I then
went on to share that not only had no one practiced the entire week but that Child Number Four had also voiced flagrant distaste for me, personally. Chagrined, the mother paid me, and I returned to the living room to collect my belongings one last time.

By this point, though, Evil Girl was holding Butterball, and, having heard my exchange with her mother, was in full In-For-A-Penny-In-For-A-Pound mode. She tossed her feral little fur ball at me and shouted, "SIC HER, BUTTERBALL!"

Sweeter words had never made their way to little Butterball's ears. All his doggie dreams had come true, and he wasted no time following his mistress's command to the letter.
Lesson: Under the right circumstances, anyone can set world land records for speed--even in three-and-a-half-inch stiletto heels.

NEXT: Kindergarteners: a breed apart.