Carol Kaminski is a nice girl, but she can't keep her pets alive. Every time one dies, she profits. A Jackie Kennedy look-alike who mows down her poodle apologizes with twenty bucks. A Philadelphia hunter who plugs her pug hands her two hundred. When the neighbor's
pit bulls do in her doberman, the law gets involved awarding her more in damages than her bank teller father makes in a year. People in her tight-knit coal mining community begin to whisper that Carol is cursed. The squint-eyed lady at the SPCA refuses to let her adopt
"No reflection on you, honey," she assures Carol. "Just we can't keep giving out dogs that end up dead."
Carol's Dad invests her windfalls. Carol accepts her petless status, until the day her dying parish priest bequeaths her his beloved labradoodle, Lucky. Determined to overcome her bad pet karma, Carol embarks on a mission to keep Lucky above ground.
Killer Yapp: Miss Snark!
MS: KY, I'm busy with the crapstravaganza.
KY: Dead! Dog! Plural!!
MS: yes, I see that. Shall I send the author a flame from hell?
KY: No! Me! Me!
MS: KY, I'm not unleashing you on the writer. There's a constitutional amendment forbidding it.
KY: Yes! Me! Kill! Kill!
MS: KY, there are roast beast leftovers in the kitchen with Grandmother Snark. She might give you some if you let her win at gin rummy.
KY: Beast? Beast!! Bye!
Obvious horrors of dead dogs aside, this is a set up, not a hook. We need more of the story.