Other articles by Bonnie Henry:

Opinion by Bonnie Henry : He shares his love of Africa Opinion by Bonnie Henry : When in Tucson, drive with caution Opinion by Bonnie Henry : Tale of a shipwreck Opinion by Bonnie Henry : Imagine tending 10,000 chickens Opinion by Bonnie Henry : It seems that ladies still need to dress their menOpinion by Bonnie Henry : Harvesting hope Opinion by Bonnie Henry : From senators to athletes, lame excuses abound Opinion by Bonnie Henry : Gila Bend before AC Opinion by Bonnie Henry : Rein in those thoughts — June has an upside, too Opinion by Bonnie Henry : Keeping their dream alive

Engineering
Senior Project Manager Education
Flowing Wells Schools
Maestrp de Espanol Trades/Construction
Pioneer Landscaping
Yard Person/Loader Operator Production and Manufacturing
Pioneer Landscaping
Crushing Crew Education
Flowing Wells Schools
Spanish Teacher/High School Finance and Accounting
SENIOR CONTROLLER General
Grocery/Market Mgr-Cafe/Restaurant Mgr

Love kids. Like dogs. Raised several of 'em, matter of fact — both the two-legged and four-legged varieties.

Still, there are places I'd rather not have them around, particularly if they're prone — depending upon the species — to frequent squalling, barking, and voiding of bodily fluids.

Two of the places that easily come to mind are movie theaters and fancy restaurants.

Another is the theater.

Years ago while I was attending a local production of "Our Town," a baby's cries grew so loud and insistent that the actor playing the stage manager actually broke character to sweetly inquire, "Something wrong with the baby?"

Only then did the babe's mother hustle it out of the theater.

Another time I witnessed the owner of a small Tucson playhouse refuse entrance to a woman with a baby in her arms.

The woman was both indignant and incredulous.

Never mind how her child might disrupt the play — and the evening of those who had paid good money to see it.

Eventually, she got her refund and left. Today, she'd probably sue.

Then again, she could just plop her baby on any old bar stool and drown her troubles with a cold one.

A few days ago, The New York Times ran an article about young, upwardly mobile moms taking their kids into bars — and the brave tavern owners who tried to resist.

After the owners of a bar in Brooklyn posted a "No strollers" sign, neighborhood parenting blogs filled up with outrage.

Maybe they should just hie themselves and their kids over to the Wednesday afternoon Tots and Tonic mixers held in Manhattan.

And how about that mom in Queens who boasted of breast-feeding her son at the bar, then ordering a martini?

Shaken or stirred indeed.

Naturally, all this comes with the requisite psycho-babble — about how this generation insists on wearing hoodies and high-top sneakers and going to rock shows — just as they did BEFORE CHILDREN.

Grow up, people. Your lives are different now.

And those of us who did pay the sitter — or sat home because we couldn't get one — would now like to enjoy a little peace and quiet at the pub, the movie theater and the restaurant with the dim lighting and the 10-page menu.

This is not just a shriek from an aging boomer. According to The Times, plenty of 20-something singles are also ticked off over trying to relax amid a cacophony of squalls while balancing a drink on a bar littered with crayons.

Smoking bans, plus laws that allow minors with parents into bars — including Arizona's — indicate we'll probably be seeing more, not less, of this.

Same for the tail waggers. They come along to the park, the store, the hotel — and perhaps some day, the bar.

Last year, a state senator from Seattle introduced a bill to allow dogs in bars — despite a ban by the state health department forbidding all dogs, save service animals, in areas that serve food.

We're not talking just the patio area here, but the real bar. You know, the one with the stools and scraping chairs and flung-open restroom doors and patrons who just might tend to trip over a leash or shaggy back.

Thankfully — for everyone's sake — this bill never made it into law.

Which means for now, at least, hair of the dog will continue to have only one meaning for those who belly up to the bar.