Tabloid Page #10

and we healed together,

and we formed a bond,

a friendship.

Booger was a very special dog.

Not only was he

a licensed service dog,

but one day he just got up

and unlocked the door,

and then he started

dialing 911 with his paw.

He had a big button phone.

And I'd say, "Booger, help!

Dial 911."

He'd go, whomp!

"Booger, I need a towel.

Go get me a towel

out of the dryer, buddy."

He'd go in there into the dryer

and get me a towel.

"Hey, Booger, get me a pop

out of the refrigerator."

And he'd go get me one,

and he'd so gently carry it

so he wouldn't burst it

with his teeth

and drop it in my lap.

He got me through

that tough time.

For ten years, he was my helper.

My beloved old friend Booger

passed away in my arms

of cancer in April of 2006.

I tried everything

in the world to save him.

I took him to every

veterinary hospital I could.

I said, "You can't die, buddy.

"You're all I have.

We're a package deal.

You can't die."

That was the last command

I gave him, "You can't die."

And he looked at me as if he

didn't want to disappoint me.

And those eyes,

with age-old wisdom,

those dark brown eyes

looked at me like, "Don't worry.

I'll see you again.

This is not the end for us."

I just wanted to go to heaven,

and I thought God

would just have Booger there

on a cloud for me or something.

And I'd had such a sad life,

you know,

with all the tabloid mess.

And I thought,

"I just want the hurt to stop.

And I can't do without him."

Then I heard about cloning.

You know, I thought, "Well,

I'll just give it a stab."

I contacted Dr. Byeong Chun Lee

and asked him

if it was possible.

I wrote him a letter in Korean,

translated it,

and then tracked down

his phone number.

And he goes,

"I can clone your dog."

I said, "Are you sure?

I mean, is it possible

I could have my old boy back?"

He goes, "I can."

Do you ever feel like God?

What their plan was

is to take a little piece

of tissue from Booger's tummy,

put it in liquid nitrogen

for its safe trip back

to Seoul, Korea.

They flew back with the help

of Homeland Security.

Homeland Security

guarding these little cells.

Guarding Booger.

Well, to me,

it was Spirit Booger.

That's what we called it.

It was like an orb of light

moved along the fuselage

of the plane.

And people were saying,

"What is that?"

But I knew.

I knew it was old Spirit Booger.

I closed my eyes, and I said

a silent prayer, and I said,

"Oh, Heavenly Father,

please take good care of him."

And it was like he spoke

to my heart, and said,

"Don't worry.

"He's with me, and he's fine.

"And you, you are going

to be fine too,

"because I've got Booger 1,

"but I'm sending you back

Booger 2

and a little something extra."

- I get this

long-distance phone call.

It's Dr. Hong.

"Miss Brenann, what is best news

I can bring to you?"

And I said, "We're pregnant?

We're pregnant!"

He said, "We are."

On August the 5th,

I flew to Seoul, Korea.

Well, I found out what

the little something extra was

that Heavenly Father

had promised me.

There were five.

Five?

Five cloned puppies,

all exactly like Booger,

five mini Boogers lying there

like little black jelly rolls

with half the world press

crowding around.

They just looked like

little tiny mini Boogers.

It was the strangest feeling.

The weirdest thing is,

I was sitting in a hotel

in Seoul, Korea,

and one of them got up

and opened the door,

and he was four months old.

And I just went...

I thought, "How'd he know that?

I didn't train them to do that."

You know, they have

those little refrigerators

with little wooden doors,

like a cabinet, in hotels.

And he just reached right up,

got that silver knob,

and jerked it open

with his teeth

just like old Booger used to do.

And then, when one of them

got the leash

and went over to the door

and dropped it like,

"Walk me, now,"

like Booger did,

it blew me away.

I said, "These are his clones."

It was $25,000,

if I can remember.

Well, the original price was,

I believe, $150,000.

Was it?

God.

She must like her dogs.

I don't know.

Some girl.

It was in all the papers.

"Dog cloning girl turns out

to be the Joyce McKinney,"

because she pretended

it wasn't her to start with.

She called herself

Brenann McKinney.

Something like Brenann,

was it?

Berman McKinney,

or something like that.

I forget what name she used.

I knew right away it was Joyce.

Why?

Well, I think there was

a photograph.

And she hadn't changed

that much.

I thought if I used

my middle name

that I would just be left alone

by the press,

because I don't see

any connection at all

between cloned puppies

and a 32-year-old

sex-in-chains story.

I'm sorry, but I don't see

the connection.

But you should have seen

the way Associated Press...

those people slandered me

so bad.

In fact, if there's an attorney

listening to this

that wants a good libel suit,

I've got one.

"I'll sue anybody," she said,

"who says I'm

that Joyce McKinney.

I'm not that Joyce McKinney."

But she had to admit

that she was.

I was afraid to have a love

affair of any kind after Kirk.

I was afraid to kiss a guy.

So I chose just

to be celibate and...

as Bridget Bardot once said,

"I gave my youth to men,

and my old age I give to dogs

that I trust."

Dogs and children love me.

They love Joyce McKinney,

because they sense in me

an innocence, you know?

They sense in me a gentleness.

And they don't read

tabloid papers.

They love me for me.

She's not an evil person.

I mean, she's just a bit crazy,

eccentric, self-obsessed,

and self-involved

and manipulative

and barking mad, probably,

basically, but...

"Barking mad."

Yeah.

I wish we had that expression

over here.

You can have it.

You can tell yourself

a million times,

"God knows the truth."

And it would be nice

if all you had to deal with

every day was God.

But you don't.

You have to deal with people.

I didn't plan on any of

the tabloids destroying my life

or the Mormons or the press

or the wire services.

That was not in my plans.

I really didn't have

much choice

other than to make

some kind of move in my life.

I had promised God

I was gonna write the book.

Finally.

No matter how much it hurt me.

But someone broke into

my pickup truck.

I had an entire cab

full of materials.

I had court cases,

court records.

I had all

the interview witnesses.

I had all the exhibits.

I had the original

modeling portfolio

which matched the head

that was put on the naked body.

My whole life is

in those three suitcases.

And this was an old pickup.

They pried the wing open

with an orange screwdriver,

and they took coat hangers,

pulled the door open,

took absolutely everything

documenting the story

I've just told you,

took everything,

with the exception of one little

yellow laundry basket

which had somehow

wedged under the seat.

At least I had something to show

that this nightmare ordeal

happened to what was once

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