Sugarpie's post got me thinking.
Last week, I was doing my morning routine which, of course, does include showering. I had put Black Jack out back on his run so that he could have his "outdoor time", while I had my soapy, in the hot water, relax time.
(bad idea)
Anyway...littlest daughter comes to the door and informs me: "Black Jack is in the front yard, Mama. How come?"
How come, indeed.
I think I can spare the 10 seconds to get dressed and go grab him, when...dear God, here they come, the Mafia walkers.
They walk every blessed morning of the week sometime between 8:00 and 8:20, they pass my house.
And, there's Black Jack in the front yard, head outstretched, ears perkily pointed, flag of a tail waving a happy hello.
Of course, they see a menacing beast, ready to pounce. I don't blame them, he's 80 pounds and solid muscle.
I leap down 15 stairs. Grab both leash, and my red rain coat and throw it over my bath towel fetchingly wrapped around me sarong-style.
I gallop to the door and off the porch, smiling my best "I'm a great neighbor" smile. They are standing stock still, staring ahead of them.
Black Jack is of course, barking with haunches raised ("I'm ready to play, throw me something, throw me something, anything at all....")
and they see: "I see you trespassing on my land, cease to breath, mortal human women, or feel the fangs of death"
I run to get him. Snap on his leash. I'm clutching my coat, and as I stand, the towel falls down around my feet.
I look at the ground the eeeentire time that I drag him back up the lawn, until one of them says, "Do you want your towel, ________?"
I declined, saying that I would get it later.
And, then, it struck me. The Mafia walkers know my name!
Last week, I was doing my morning routine which, of course, does include showering. I had put Black Jack out back on his run so that he could have his "outdoor time", while I had my soapy, in the hot water, relax time.
(bad idea)
Anyway...littlest daughter comes to the door and informs me: "Black Jack is in the front yard, Mama. How come?"
How come, indeed.
I think I can spare the 10 seconds to get dressed and go grab him, when...dear God, here they come, the Mafia walkers.
They walk every blessed morning of the week sometime between 8:00 and 8:20, they pass my house.
And, there's Black Jack in the front yard, head outstretched, ears perkily pointed, flag of a tail waving a happy hello.
Of course, they see a menacing beast, ready to pounce. I don't blame them, he's 80 pounds and solid muscle.
I leap down 15 stairs. Grab both leash, and my red rain coat and throw it over my bath towel fetchingly wrapped around me sarong-style.
I gallop to the door and off the porch, smiling my best "I'm a great neighbor" smile. They are standing stock still, staring ahead of them.
Black Jack is of course, barking with haunches raised ("I'm ready to play, throw me something, throw me something, anything at all....")
and they see: "I see you trespassing on my land, cease to breath, mortal human women, or feel the fangs of death"
I run to get him. Snap on his leash. I'm clutching my coat, and as I stand, the towel falls down around my feet.
I look at the ground the eeeentire time that I drag him back up the lawn, until one of them says, "Do you want your towel, ________?"
I declined, saying that I would get it later.
And, then, it struck me. The Mafia walkers know my name!
Comments
So now they won't beware of the dog--they'll beware of *you*!
Seriously, if they know your name, they should know your dog's okay, too.
Thanks for the laugh!