Three months down the road, I got a call. They said the time was up and the little dog was eligible for adoption.

I said, "When can I pick Panda up?"

I hadn't even been thinking of a name-it just came out. Panda. At the time I had two male dogs-a little bichon frise rescue and a mini black poodle. I worried that Panda would come in and be intimidated, but the introduction went smoothly-to the point that I could almost hear her say, "All right, boys. There are going to be a few changes in town. I'm now in charge!" And she took over and ran the house until she was sixteen and three-fourths.

With my poodle Timothy.

BETTY WHITE PRIVATE COLLECTION.

SPEAKING ANIMAL.

I grew up with pets. In our house, they were more than pets-they were members of the family. grew up with pets. In our house, they were more than pets-they were members of the family.

During the Depression, my dad made radios to sell to make extra money. n.o.body had any money to buy the radios, so he would trade them for dogs. He built kennels in the backyard, and he cared for the dogs.

Now, radios didn't eat, but the dogs did. So it was not not the best business venture. the best business venture.

At one point we got up to something like fifteen dogs-well-loved dogs. We'd rotate them through the house in shifts, but it was clear it was not really a good plan, and we found homes for everybody but one chow and one Pekingese whom we couldn't part with.

As far back as I can remember, my parents had animals.

My mother always told the story about Toby, their orange-marmalade cat that they had when I was born. Toby would sit on the edge of my crib, and Mom said that if Toby hadn't approved of the new baby when I came home from the hospital, I would have been sent right back.

When my folks first came to California, we lived in Pasadena for a while. And we had a white Angora kitty named Patsy. I remember her very clearly. I don't remember the kids across the street I used to play with, but I remember Patsy. I must have been five years old.

One day I went into the closet and came out screaming for my mother, "Patsy broke!! Patsy broke!!"

She'd had a litter of kittens, and I thought she'd come apart.

Interestingly, neither of my parents had pets growing up. But together they fell in love with animals-and, of course, it caught.

Two years ago I lost Panda at sixteen and three-fourths, and my ten-year-old golden, Kitta, and my eleven-year-old Himalayan kitty, Bob Cat. (If you didn't like cats you called him Mr. Cat.) I lost them all within two months, and I was just devastated.

I work closely with the organization Guide Dogs for the Blind and sponsor a guide dog every Christmas. When they heard I lost Kitta, they called me and said they had a golden career-change dog if I would be interested.

I explained, "I really am so distraught at this point, I need closure. I just absolutely can't imagine adopting a dog right now"-pause-"but maybe I'll come up and meet him."

The next morning, I got on a plane and flew to San Rafael and met him. And then I got back on the plane to go home and "think it over."

Did you ever hear anything more ridiculous? You meet a golden retriever and you're going to go home and "think it over"? Who was I kidding? I couldn't get my phone out of my purse fast enough when we landed.

And that's my Pontiac. He was already named. Guide dog puppies in a litter all have the same first initial. Since he was a P P litter (no pun intended), they named him Pontiac. I like to think of it as the Indian chief, not the car. Matter of fact, when the car company folded, I sat him down and carefully explained it was not his fault. For which I got a kiss. litter (no pun intended), they named him Pontiac. I like to think of it as the Indian chief, not the car. Matter of fact, when the car company folded, I sat him down and carefully explained it was not his fault. For which I got a kiss.

Ponti went into career change because he had a b.u.m leg. Some people say these dogs "flunked out" of school, but I absolutely refuse to use that expression. These dogs never "flunked" at anything anything.

Ponti is my only pet right now.

I want a kitty, and I want a little dog so so bad. But I must be home to integrate them. I never took cla.s.ses to learn how to integrate animals. I think I just learned it organically. bad. But I must be home to integrate them. I never took cla.s.ses to learn how to integrate animals. I think I just learned it organically.

I speak better animal language than human language. I can read them like a book-although not as well as they can read me.

But with my schedule the way it is, I'm just waiting for time to supervise the introductions. That's on my bucket list.

Now, I also have an age problem. I'm eighty-nine years old. I've outgrown my last puppy, but I don't want Ponti to be my last dog. My friends Tom and Patty Sullivan have arranged that whatever pets I leave, they will take. They won't find homes for them, they will take them in and love them.

I can't imagine being without animals. And there are so many older dogs that need homes desperately. So that's where I'll look, and we can grow older together.

And then there are cats. Cats are not remote. People who think cats are that way may never have lived with a cat. My Bob, for instance. If my knee was bent, he was on my lap or on my shoulder in a flash. He followed me around the house like a dog. In bed at night, I'd reach over to turn the light out and he'd be there. For eleven years I fell asleep with that purr on my shoulder. Cats love you very much-they are just more subtle about it.

You're never too old to adopt a pet if you look ahead and make arrangements for their future. Then relax and enjoy each other.

With another "planted" pet.

TONY DIMAIO/ABACAUSA. COM/NEWSCOM.

STATE OF AFFAIRS.

NAMES.

Having spent so many years memorizing lines, I am pretty good at remembering names. ("Pretty good" is probably a euphemism.) My problem is faces faces. They just don't seem to register. I have no memory for faces at all. Consequently, at those gatherings where you are introduced to several people at the same time, I wind up with a bunch of names I can remember but I don't know where to put them. I try to make silent notes in my head: JohnSmithbluetie. JaneJonespearlearrings. Sometimes those notes can carry you through a whole evening before they evaporate.

That game may work with total strangers but not with someone you've met before and should remember but don't. You are off to a bad start when you say, "It's nice meeting you." And they respond with, "Yes, it's nice seeing you again again."

An added hazard in my line of work is when the name you can't come up with happens to be that of a celebrity. Everyone else in the room knows that name-except you! As the celebrity approaches, it's too late to ask someone nearby for help. You can't ask the celeb or you'll hurt his ego. Just pray you don't have to make any introductions.

There are too many examples in real life to mention-that awkward moment when I just don't know someone's name happens all the time!

People approach you out of context-people you've not seen in years. Or they approach in groups. Or they've aged or changed their hair color or put on weight-making recognition even more difficult. I still will introduce myself in these situations-"Hi, I'm Betty White"-in the hopes they'll do the same. Invariably, they not only don't reciprocate, they look at me as if I'm out of my mind.

The 2011 SAG Awards was a cla.s.sic example. There I was, in a room filled with actors from popular movies and shows all across television. They're celebrities. And I don't know who they are! You feel like you're on the edge of a cliff the entire night.

And in this industry, our business makes for an instant familiarity. All night, people approached me and said, "Oh, h.e.l.lo, Betty-I loved you in Sat.u.r.day Night Live Sat.u.r.day Night Live" or "Hot in Cleveland is great," and so on. And I don't know the person from Adam-though I most probably should. is great," and so on. And I don't know the person from Adam-though I most probably should.

You can't cover all the bases, but you wish you could cover a few.

The worst part is, a lot of people don't take kindly to your not remembering. But you're fighting as hard as you can. You've used up all of the cliched ways of avoiding the situation, but you still can't grasp the name in question.

One time I tried what I thought was a great way to learn that elusive moniker. I asked, "How do you spell your last name?"

The answer came back, "With an i i."

Great.

Whatever memory trick you employ, it is well worth the effort. People are often surprised and pleased when you call them by name-especially in a crowd.

One more complication is added for me as my hearing dims: I may not hear the name clearly in the initial introduction, and the only thing worse than forgetting a name is calling someone by the wrong one.

You are probably thinking that if I let a big party be all that work, why don't I just stay home? Great idea! Great idea! And I usually do. And I usually do.

The operative word here is "big." I thoroughly enjoy a small group of friends-six, or maybe even eight. You can get into stimulating conversation, laugh together, disagree on occasion, and, if you're not careful, even learn something.

And you don't have to bother with all those name games.

See-I'm not quite as antisocial as I sound. Not quite.

With George Burns-a face and a name you could never forget.

BOB n.o.bLE/GLOBE PHOTOS.

DINING ROOM TABLE.

My desk, and what was originally intended to be my office, is located in a spare bedroom upstairs. The fax machine lives there, as well as my stuffed animals and piles and piles of books people send me in the hopes I'll take a look at them for endors.e.m.e.nt or out of curiosity or for pleasure. I'm too busy to read much of anything lately, but it's against my religion to throw out a book, so they keep stacking up and stacking up. It's gotten to the point that whenever Donna needs to fax something, I find myself saying, "No, no, let me do that!" so she doesn't have to see the messy room.

As that room filled up, I found that I kept bringing my work downstairs to the dining room table at the end of the living room. It sits by a big window looking out to the garden, and Donna and I find it a most pleasant workplace. Unfortunately, the table keeps getting piled higher and higher with leftover works in progress that have become virtually permanent. The dining room table has become an echo of the upstairs spare bedroom!

At four a.m., which seems to be my witching hour, I wake up not in a panic about memorizing my lines or what the day on the set might bring. No, I wake up haunted by that mess in that office-and the growing mess on my dining room table!

I think to myself, Betty, you Betty, you must must clean this mess before you die. clean this mess before you die. G.o.d forbid someone else has to rifle through what's piled on there. I fantasize about bringing in giant garbage bags and just tossing everything out-but I can't bring myself to do it. G.o.d forbid someone else has to rifle through what's piled on there. I fantasize about bringing in giant garbage bags and just tossing everything out-but I can't bring myself to do it.

What about my potential dinner guests? With no place to serve them, we wind up with c.o.c.ktails and hors d'oeuvres in the den, then we go out to eat. I am not what might be called one of the world's greatest hostesses.

One of my New Year's resolutions will be to finally clear that table.

But not this year.

Ironically, I could hear very well back then.

BETTMANN / CORBIS.

ENTOURAGE.

So many stars have staff, and I'm often asked about mine.

I have a wonderful housekeeper, Edna, who's been with me for almost twenty-five years. She's been with me so long I couldn't possibly ask her to retire. But she's slowing down like we all are. So a few years ago I hired her a cleaning lady named Anita.

If I have to do anything on the weekend, like attend a poker game, which means driving down to Newport Beach, Anita will come in and feed Ponti and help me out. It's a very comfortable situation.

When it's not comfortable is when something happens like what happened the other morning. I woke up early, as usual, to go to the Hot in Cleveland Hot in Cleveland table read. I made Ponti his dish of food and stepped outside to put it down for him. Just then the wind picked up and slammed the door shut behind me, locking me out. I have an elaborate system of keys hidden to get me back into the house, but when I went to find the final key, it was missing. Luckily, I'd gotten far enough inside that there was a phone in the room. So I had to call Glenn Kaplan, my business manager, who lives nearby. Glenn has an extra set of my house keys, and fortunately he was still home. But his copies of my keys were in his office so he had to drive there to get them and bring them back up to me. table read. I made Ponti his dish of food and stepped outside to put it down for him. Just then the wind picked up and slammed the door shut behind me, locking me out. I have an elaborate system of keys hidden to get me back into the house, but when I went to find the final key, it was missing. Luckily, I'd gotten far enough inside that there was a phone in the room. So I had to call Glenn Kaplan, my business manager, who lives nearby. Glenn has an extra set of my house keys, and fortunately he was still home. But his copies of my keys were in his office so he had to drive there to get them and bring them back up to me.

By the time he got to me, I'd been almost exclusively outside for forty-five minutes in nothing but my bathrobe. And you can imagine how glamorous I looked when he arrived!

My dear friend Jerry Martin used to have a set of keys to my house, too, and he used to take care to visit Ponti when I was on set. In fact, I'd never have been able to film The Proposal The Proposal without Jerry's a.s.sistance. When I was first called about the role, I was told the filming was supposed to take ten weeks in Boston. I said I couldn't possibly leave for that long. But then the schedule was cut down to six weeks, and Jerry volunteered to visit Ponti every day. I managed to make it back a couple of times on weekends, so between the two of us, along with Edna and Anita, I felt that Ponti was covered as he adores them all. without Jerry's a.s.sistance. When I was first called about the role, I was told the filming was supposed to take ten weeks in Boston. I said I couldn't possibly leave for that long. But then the schedule was cut down to six weeks, and Jerry volunteered to visit Ponti every day. I managed to make it back a couple of times on weekends, so between the two of us, along with Edna and Anita, I felt that Ponti was covered as he adores them all.

Sadly, we lost Jerry very suddenly a few weeks ago.

I not only miss him deeply but on a morning like the one when I locked myself out, I start wondering about the wisdom of my staffing situation! Should I have more help? But I so enjoy being alone.

That said, the other downside to my system is that I slip behind a little all the time. I never never finish a day and think, finish a day and think, I'm all caught up. I'm all caught up.

Then what am I doing writing a book? I needed to write a book at this time in my life like I needed another hole in my head.

But I couldn't turn it down, it was such a temptation.

I told you up front that writing is my favorite thing.

CLIFF LIPSON/CBS/LANDOV.

POKER.

I'm not a great poker player but I love to play.

Bob Stewart of Goodson /Todman, who created game shows like Pa.s.sword Pa.s.sword, $25,000 Pyramid $25,000 Pyramid, and more, hosts a poker game that he's run for more than fifty years. Bob and I have been friends for almost that long, and about fifteen years ago he invited me to deal in. Our group plays at the Newport Beach house of Ann Cullen, whose late husband, Bill Cullen, was also a great game-show host. We all giggle and scratch and have a wonderful time.

We don't play for big money, but we play for blood blood.

It's dealer's choice, and each hand is high/low. We don't play a lot of wild games. Screw Thy Neighbor (it's really Screw Your Neighbor, but we call it Screw Thy Thy Neighbor, to cla.s.s it up) is my favorite. You get a chance to keep a card or pa.s.s it along. Neighbor, to cla.s.s it up) is my favorite. You get a chance to keep a card or pa.s.s it along.

I think the only reason they let me into the game is that I usually leave about $13 on the table. We have a bra.s.s cup engraved with "Pico Poker Club," and whoever comes out ahead at the end of the night takes this cup home. The winner can enjoy the cup until the next game, but G.o.d forbid you don't return it then. The penalty for that offense is $2,000 or death, whichever is most appropriate.

One day, Henry Pollick, who lives in the Valley, was almost to Ann's and realized he'd forgotten the cup. He turned around and must have done some creative driving to get home to pick it up and make it back in time for the game.

Just as we were wondering where Henry was, he raced in, breathless. "I can't afford the penalty!" he said, and we all burst out laughing.

I love to play cards and rarely have anybody to play with anymore.

So these games are precious.

On Match Game Match Game-I've always loved a great game.

CBS/LANDOV.

MODERN TECHNOLOGY.

(Thoroughly Modern Betty?) Every time you begin to think you're such a contemporary and you don't feel your age, you realize you don't own a computer!-and intend to keep it that way.