It's an unspoken rule at 7th and Montana -- and everywhere else I suppose -- that there's no such thing as an ugly baby. But this morning I met the exception to the rule, thanks to an Unfortunate Matron who stood behind me in line with a baby carriage. I turned around, smiled and tried to get a glimpse of the baby, but the Matron kept the carriage covered. "Good Morning," I said. Before the Matron could answer, the baby started fussing. Actually, it emitted a low growl. "Shhhhhh," said the Matron, rocking the carriage back and forth, "Mommy just has to get a little coffee, then we'll go back outside." The growling grew louder, increasing in intensity until it sounded like the little Bundle of Joy was foaming at the mouth. Then it began barking. "That's no baby, it's a dog!," I cried. The Matron seemed mortified, but what else was I supposed to say? ... "I can see where Junior gets his good looks?!?" "The Alpo doesn't fall far from the tree?!?" The Matron spun around and fled the scene, presumably to tend to her "child." I just hope she's not breast-feeding ...!