My heart sank when I saw the big fat envelope in my letter-box.

I thought, It's my novel. The agent didn't like it. So she's sent it back with one of those notes that says, It's a great novel, but I'm not sufficiently in love with it to be able to represent you.

That's what they say, these days. They're not in love. This is the literary world's equivalent of the mechanical voice that assures you your call is really important.

But it wasn't a manuscript, after all. The envelope contained a blanket. The Humane Society of the United States had sent me an unsolicited blanket. With -- of course -- a request for funds to help them to succor abused animals.

It occured to me that it would cost me as much to send the blanket back to them as to just go ahead and donate. (I'm sure some bright young Harvard Business School graduate has already pointed this out to them) And, hey! It's a really nice blanket. It's soft, and lightweight, and just the right size to throw over a chair when Bao and I are out together.

What's more, it's my blanket. The enclosed letter says I can keep it, whether I send a donation or not. It's the Humane Society's gift to me.

Did I send a check? Of course I did.

Do other people?

I wonder.

It troubles me that organizations like this are spending as much money on fund-raising as they're spending on the animals who are, after all, supposed to be the point of the entire exercise. Where was the Humane Society during Katrina? For that matter, where was the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals? And while we're on the subject, why do we need two separate organizations that are apparently doing exactly the same thing?

Moreover, with all these people raising all this money, why does cruelty to animals seem to be on the increase? Why are there more unwanted dogs than ever?

Maybe we need a different approach.

My husband always said you shouldn't criticize without making some kind of positive suggestion.

So here's an idea. Instead of licensing dogs, why don't we license humans?