There was this inside joke. Everybody knew it; it was mainly used by newspaper readers and TV broadcasters. And it was about JQ Adams. The first part of the sentence would go, "It was JQ Adams' policy..." and the next person would go, "What was JQ Adams' policy?" and the first person would say, "It was JQ Adams' policy to tell them." It kept going like that--over and over and over. And everybody laughed. I laughed too. I was laughing.... "It was JQ Adams' policy..." "What was JQ Adams' policy?" "It was JQ Adams policy to tell them." While this joke was being laughed about, I went down to look at the rabid dog. He was pacing back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. He was in this little half yard with a cement block wall around it. The cement wall was only 4 cement blocks high. This rabid dog was pacing back and forth gnashing his terrible teeth. There were big ole' claws on his feet. Dora was not afraid of the rabid dog, but I'm a little bit scared of it. I was obsessed with watching that rabid dog, even though he could jump right over that wall and get me. I was working out intricate fingering on the piano. I needed to think. I was going down to the basement and water was filling up like a submarine with a leak. I wasn't sure what to do, so I slid down the fire hose. The man with the big knit hat stuffed big with his hair would NOT stop talking. Every once in a while the standing joke about J.Q. Adams' policy entered all conversation. It was the fad. "What was his policy?" "It was JQ Adams' policy to tell them."