What a dog thinks:
A trash can is container to test your ingenuity. You must stand on your hind legs and try to push the lid off with your nose. If successful, you are rewarded with margarine wrappers to shred, beef bones to consume and moldy crusts of bread.
We have two wonderful dogs. They are toy schnauzers. Let me first say that any dog with the word “toy” in it should have rubber teeth. These little ladies have teeth like a shark, so you can only play with them until you need a tourniquet.
We love them dearly and, like most people, consider them part of the family. We even have October fest to honor their home land. We have to, or they throw a fit. Do you how hard it is to not only convince the vendors, but then fit them all in the back yard? Besides, one of them is a mean drunk.
One of them is a “runner”. So is my wife, but luckily she’s pretty slow. She almost got away three times. For example, Maggie (the runner) and Sammy were in the house and I needed to barbecue some chicken thighs so my wife, who was off playing Bunko (what is Bunko, and why is it played?)
Anyway my wife always buys skinless chicken, but this time, she bought thighs with the skin on them. This is very important to the story because our old barbecue had one setting: inferno. So, I put the chicken on the grill and went in the house.
When I came back out to check on them, there were flames shooting five feet in the air out of the barbecue! I know! I, of course, had no fire extinguisher but I knew that baking soda is great for putting out grease fires.
So I ran inside to get the baking soda, leaving the door open. It’s important to the story to understand that our old house had no fence, so I had to tether the dogs when they went outside. Maggie saw her chance and she was gone.
We lived on a busy street, and she was running down the middle of it. So, I could either let the house burn down from the now fully engulfed barbecue, or save Maggie. Since I couldn’t do both and I certainly couldn’t let the house go up in flames, I yelled loudly enough for Maggie to get out of the street.
I finally got the fire out on what used to resemble my barbecue, then set out to find Maggie, barefoot, of course. Time was of the essence because that little stinker can RUN!
I ended up catching sight of her two townhouse complexes away, so I walked as fast as I could to make up ground because, fortunately, she has to smell everything, no matter how disgusting. After about an hour, and in the twilight, I caught up with her in an open field filled with rocks that felt so good on my bare and now bloody and muddy feet.
She was so muddy, I held her straight out from me all the way home. When we got home, I gave her a bath, which I’m certain she thought was punishment, doctored up my feet and bid farewell to my once beautiful barbecue.
We moved shortly after that, to a home with a fence, got a new barbecue and Heather still plays Bunko, but never buys chicken with skin on it anymore.
See you tomorrow.
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