She was just a Frenchie, just a little ball of fine hair and big eyes. Her name was Minerva. She waddled, as French bulldogs are wont to do, and she grunted with each step, sounding like a little pig – which often made me laugh. Minerva was built like a tank. She was broad-chested with a low, sloping head and thick little legs. If she was scared, she would roll onto her back and open her eyes wide as if she were starring in a slasher film and the killer was upon her. Once, while she was looking up at me while walking and not paying attention, she fell into a trap door that led into our crawlspace, grunting all the way down in…