DEAR ABBY: I was widowed last spring, and I'm still not over the shock of what happened at my late husband "Jason's" visitation at the funeral home.

I was his second wife. Imagine my devastation when my darling husband of less than three years died only 90 days after being diagnosed with cancer. Jason had been separated and divorced from his first wife, "Carole," for many years before we were married, and had two adult children from that marriage.

On the morning of Jason's visitation, I went to the funeral home and made sure the casket spray, guestbook and a few family photos of all of us were arranged before going home to shower and change.

When I returned to the funeral home, I was confronted by Carole, who was greeting the visitors as if she were the widow -- wearing red cowboy boots, no less. If that weren't enough, she had put up a display with photos of herself and Jason, storyboards, etc. and was acting as if they had never divorced. I was mortified by her behavior, but did not want to cause a scene in that setting.

Finally, after four hours, the funeral director and a friend escorted Carole outside and told her it was time for the wife to be alone with the body. Was it the funeral director's responsibility to take care of this, or should Jason's children have corrected their mother's behavior? -- HURT IN THE SOUTH

DEAR HURT: The right person finally took action. It was up to the funeral director to see to it that the visitation was carried out to your satisfaction. And, embarrassed and grieving as you were, you should have approached the funeral director and asked that the former wife's performance be "canceled" as soon as it began.

DEAR ABBY: My husband has always been a little bit controlling, but he has never mentally or physically abused me before. We have a relationship that works for us.

I was raised in the South to believe that the woman stays home and cooks and cleans. I enjoy being his "li'l woman." I am pregnant with our second child.

The problem is, my husband is starting to drink more and more. When he drinks, he becomes angry. The other night while he was drinking, he hit me for the first time. He apologized the next day, but I am now scared of what he might do the next time he drinks. I have suggested counseling. He says he will think about it. -- WORRIED IN ROCHESTER, MINN.

DEAR WORRIED: Your husband's drinking has reached the point where it's time the both of you admitted he has a serious problem. For a man to hit a woman is a disgusting sign of weakness; for a husband to hit his pregnant wife is beyond the pale. If you do not draw the line now, your husband could seriously injure you and/or the baby when (not "if") he does it again.

Tell him that the first time he hit you was also the last, and if the marriage is to continue, he must get help for his drinking immediately -- not just "think about it." And while you're at it, inform him that the next time he raises a hand to you, you will call the police and have him thrown in jail. If you fail to act now, this is only the beginning of your problems.

Abby shares more than 100 of her favorite recipes in two booklets: "Abby's Favorite Recipes" and "More Favorite Recipes by Dear Abby." Send a business-size, self-addressed envelope, plus check or money order for $12 (U.S. funds)

to: Dear Abby -- Cookbooklet Set, P.O. Box 447, Mount Morris, IL 61054-0447. (Postage is included in price.)

DEAR ABBY: One Sunday, our two elderly dogs (14 and 15) were outside in the yard when a sudden rainstorm came up. One of the dogs ran inside, but the other, "Windom," didn't. We assumed he had taken refuge in the doghouse or under the porch. We live in a rural area and the dogs rarely leave the yard, so when Windom still hadn't come to the door a half-hour later, we began looking for him.

On foot and by car, my husband and I, along with our teenaged son who has a handicap, searched a two-mile radius. No luck. The next day we resumed our search, this time combing the wooded area around our house. Still no luck. On Tuesday, fearing the worst, we continued to look -- checking the ditches up and down the roads. By Thursday, we no longer expected to find him alive.

The following Sunday, one week from the day Windom disappeared, I got up early as usual and went to Mass. I prayed our beloved Windom had not suffered. Although I had accepted the fact he was dead, I still prayed for an answer. All I wanted was to find him and bury him.

After church, I was sitting at the breakfast table with our son when the phone rang. The caller said he had found our dog! My husband was in the shower, and I began running around like a chicken with my head cut off -- grabbing my keys and dashing for the door. Our son hollered the good news to his dad, who of course wanted to come with us. We all hopped into our pickup and headed for the address the man had given.

Only God knows what happened in that week Windom was gone. Somehow he had traveled from our rural home to a busy main road 6 miles away. When Windom left our yard, he was a 65-pound, long-haired mixed breed. After his excursion, he had lost 18 pounds and was an exhausted, dehydrated mess. His hair was so matted and thick with burrs, I had to take him to a groomer and have him shaved. On his first day home, all he wanted to do was sleep and drink water.

Abby, in all the excitement, we failed to get that kind person's name. However, we want him to know how grateful we are that he took the time to stop on that busy road to help a lost dog find his family. We'll remember him always in our prayers. -- ROBERTA JONES, FORESTVILLE, N.Y.

DEAR ROBERTA: While you're at it, you should thank God your dog was wearing current identification and didn't lose his collar. Your experience should serve as an important reminder to pet owners everywhere.

DEAR ABBY: I am a college student who is doing fairly well in school. I'm a good person who is on the right road to success. So why am I always falling for the wrong guys?

I get out of these bad relationships in time, but then I'm left with the pain and hurt they've given me. I can't seem to forgive myself for being so gullible, and this causes me to treat men -- even the good ones -- like they're all bad. What do you suggest I do, Abby? -- GULLIBLE SWEETHEART IN MACON, GA.

DEAR SWEETHEART: First of all, I recommend a "time-out" from men, during which you review those qualities that make your heart beat faster. Then ask yourself if you are holding men to higher standards than you would like to be judged. Too many women make the mistake of judging men by their looks, their athletic ability or their wallets -- and entirely overlook kind, sincere, intelligent and sensitive men who would make excellent "catches."

Having been beaten up emotionally time after time, no one can blame you for keeping your defenses up. However, not all men are abusive, self-involved, dishonest users -- and the price you pay for keeping up your guard can be walling yourself off emotionally. Remember, dating is a learning experience. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

TO MY JEWISH READERS: Hanukkah begins at sundown. I would like to wish a happy festival of lights to one and all!

Good advice for everyone -- teens to seniors -- is in "The Anger in All of Us and How to Deal With It." To order, send a business-size, self-addressed envelope, plus check or money order for $6 (U.S. funds) to: Dear Abby, Anger Booklet, P.O. Box 447, Mount Morris, IL 61054-0447. (Postage is included.)

DEAR ABBY: Not long ago you wrote a column that mentioned funny names that match people's occupations. I am submitting two more: Prior to our wedding, my husband and I had the state-required blood tests. They were administered by a Dr. Fix. (We later read that Dr. Fix was caught giving himself one, and was arrested on drug charges.) The minister who married us was aptly named Dr. Comfort. -- ANN B., ARCHER, FLA.

DEAR ANN: Thanks for a "Fixer"-upper of a letter. It arrived with a bushel of mail from other readers offering names that match occupations. Read on:

DEAR ABBY: One of my dearest friends is a professional landscaper of golf courses, highways and schools. His name? Ross Weed! -- BONNIE G. CHAPIN, S.C.

DEAR ABBY: My husband, last name Graves, is a funeral director. -- DIANNE G., RIPLEY, MISS.

DEAR ABBY: The first time I took my grandchildren to their doctor, their regular physician was on vacation. The doctor who was filling in for him was named Dr. Needle. I kid you not. -- THERESA S., SPARROW BUSH, N.Y.

DEAR ABBY: When I was in college, the disciplinary dean's name was Dick Justice. -- BRIAN S., NAPERVILLE, ILL.

DEAR ABBY: I have a couple of names that take the cake. I am a nurse in a large hospital in central Wisconsin. We had a plastic surgeon named Dr. Hacker, and if that wasn't enough, his resident was Dr. Wacker. Not surprisingly, their patients required a lot of reassurance. Wouldn't you? -- LORI FROM THE DAIRY STATE

DEAR ABBY: While I was serving at the Marine Corps Schools in Quantico, Va., my best friend took me with him when he had his vasectomy. His physician's name was Dr. D. Nutter. -- PAT M., DALLAS

DEAR ABBY: There is a dentist here in my city whose hygienist's last name is Toothacher. -- GLEN IN TEXAS

DEAR ABBY: In Portland, Ore., where I reside, there are three orthodontists: Dr. Payne, Dr. Fear and Dr. Rensch (pronounced "Wrench")! -- AMELIA S.

DEAR ABBY: I swear this is true: When I visited my first gynecologist when I was in college (the University of Massachusetts at Amherst), his name was Dr. Clapp. -- V. COOK, BLUE HILL, MAINE

DEAR ABBY: When I worked at a major hospital, from time to time I would see trauma victims with the attending doctor's name being "Dr. Kill." Initially I thought it was a hospital code for victims who might still be at risk. As it turned out, Dr. Kill is a practicing physician. -- SABRINA IN SAN DIEGO

DEAR ABBY: My greatest nightmare of a college textbook was for a class called "History and Systems of Psychology." It was better than a sleeping pill. It put students to sleep in 10 seconds flat. The author? Edwin G. Boring. -- KAY IN MILLFORD, DEL.

DEAR ABBY: My father, mother and sister all see the same psychiatrist, and have for more than 15 years. His name is Dr. Looney. Seriously. -- READER IN HUNTSVILLE, TEXAS

DEAR READER: I'd say Dr. Looney is running a family practice.

To order "How to Write Letters for All Occasions," send a business-sized, self-addressed envelope, plus check or money order for $6 (U.S. funds) to: Dear Abby -- Letter Booklet, P.O. Box 447, Mount Morris, IL 61054-0447. (Postage is included in the price.)