By Alan B. Combs

I was talking with my aunt from West Virginia the other day. She was distraught and not totally coherent, but she said the sheriff had come to take her dog away.

I asked her, “Why ever would he do a thing like that?”

She replied, “I really don’t understand it, but it seemed to have something to do with one of the types of coal we mine from around here.”

“Something to do with anthracite?,” I asked.

“No.”

“Lignite?”

“No.”

“Bitumen?”

“Yeah, that was it.”