Editor’s Note: Commedienne Pam Stone writes her column for The Tryon Daily Bulletin twice each month from her office at her home&bsp; in Gowensville.

It’s pretty much a given that I’m not a &dquo;cutesy&dquo; kind o&squo; gal.

People who have known me for more than a day or two know better than to forward emails depicting gooey images of kittens nursing a pig or ducklings in a bucket. Likewise, any patriotic verse etched into a Thomas Kincaid backdrop only rankles. Rarely have I ever emitted the noise known as, &dquo;Awwwwwwwwwww!&dquo; Not at toddlers (they bite!), nor at youtube &dquo;frolicking foals!&dquo; videos.

Don&squo;t get me wrong~ I love animals, am often moved by them and wholeheartedly endorse Charles Schultz&squo;s maxim: &dquo;Happiness is a warm puppy.&dquo; However, to get me to cock my head and coo is an uncommon event, indeed. And should one of these events occur, I can only pray that it won&squo;t be displayed, for the sake of dignity, in a public setting.

That is, however, exactly what happened.

Being an Episcopalian, I am highly aware that I belong to a denomination that is referred to as &dquo;The Frozen Chosen&dquo; which must go back to our rather stiff, Anglican roots. We are far too self conscious to raise our arms during prayer but we have been known to slightly weave side to side while singing, &dquo;All Glory, Laud and Honor&dquo; as long as no one is watching. We piously attend to our devotions and arrive at the IGA punctually at 1 p.m. in order to purchase a bottle of Chardonnay. Or two.

Having attended Holy Cross Church in Tryon for several years, I also know us to be a happy lot: quick to step up to assist others, offering hospital visits and doing our level best to help the poor. I also know our rector, Father Michael, is as big a dog lover as I and so it was, just a few weeks ago, that I found myself arriving late and ducking into the empty pew in the back of the church, next to his wife, Pam, who was silently rocking a swaddled baby against her shoulder. A baby Beagle. About ten weeks of age.

&dquo;I&squo;m going out of town right after the service,&dquo; she whispered during her husband&squo;s sermon. &dquo;And I&squo;m meeting the dog-sitter here.&dquo;

I don&squo;t recall a word of Father Michael&squo;s sermon. I couldn&squo;t take my eyes off the little bundle who from time to time, would whimper. Like any responsible mother, Pam excused herself and slipped out of the building when the whimper grew louder. She returned just in time to take communion and I followed her, behind the rest of the congregation, up to the altar railing to kneel and wait for the bread and chalice to come around. As we were approached, one by one, by Father Michael, the pup, balanced between Pam&squo;s shoulder and forearm, proceeded to cross her paws against her chest in meek and dutiful reverence. As with any child who had not yet reached the age of confirmation, she received her blessing.

Well, darn it all: Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww…