The Story of the Dogs

Last Wednesday was a nice day. I was in a good mood because everything was going so well and I didn't have any major errands to run after Meals on Wheels. More specifically, I didn't have to go to the grocery store. I really, really miss grocery delivery service. (Dear Grocery Peoples: Please start up a delivery service in my area again. Thank you.) So anyway, I was in such a good mood, I had forgotten all about Sir Bites-a-lot. As I was getting out of my truck at the house just before that one I noticed the new board in the fence across the street and was glad it was there. There used to be dog that barked his head off with his crazy face sticking out where the one fence board was missing. And when I thought of that, I remembered.
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When I got back in my truck, I packed up all their stuff and had it ready. And the house was right around the corner so I didn't have much time to get all fired up. I wanted to just pull up and honk my horn but that would have been goofy, so I called them. A lady answered and I said (quite tersely), "Hi this is 'Geewits' with Meals on Wheels and I'm out here in my truck with your food. I'm not going to come to the door because your dog bit me last week." She said, "Oh, I'm holding him and someone else is coming to the door." I asked, "Can you guarantee that dog will not come out that door?" She barked, "I'm holding him!" So now I was "fired up" (I wanted to use the P word here, but it's not very Southern Belle, so I'll go with "fired up"). I marched up to the door and as I was walking up, Mr. Cigar (he always has a cigar in his hand) says, "He'll either be closed off in a room or someone will be holding him." I thrust his food at him and said, "Yeah, that was NOT pleasant." I turned sharply and marched back to my truck and never looked back. And Wednesday? I will call them again from my truck. And every Wednesday after that. So there!
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I felt slightly redeemed after that and continued to have a pleasant afternoon. When I got home, the yappy-ass dog that belongs to my uphill neighbors was outside and ran right up to me barking his idjit head off. Ran right up to me in MY YARD. Barking. AT me. IN MY YARD. I was furious. So what did I do? I reached in my purse, whipped out my camera and took a picture. That freaked the dog out and he ran back home. (And yes we need to mow. I have told the mower, and yet...) It's hard to complain about anything with those neighbors though because the man is a WWII vet and I have a very soft spot in my heart for WWII vets. But that dog better stay away from me.

So just in case you are starting to think I am a dog hater, I will finish this post by telling you about Lonesome George. We went to my In-Laws for Easter dinner on Sunday and were in the backyard looking at the extensive tree work my FIL had had done. They have a smallish regular backyard, but behind their little brick wall their yard is one steep hill. You can look down into the yards from the next street. Well, directly behind them is an empty house, but someone keeps a dog in the yard and just shows up to feed it. It's a Bassett Hound looking dog. Or maybe it's an actual Bassett Hound.He looked so sad and lonely. We picked our way down the very steep incline on rough-hewn stone steps, which I wish I had taken a picture of, and went to the fence where we petted the friendly lonely dog and talked to him. He was so sweet. Poor Lonesome George. My FIL named him that and it seemed like a good name for him. I wanted to steal him and take him to a loving home. Who would leave a dog at an empty house? Poor little guy!
So now you know the truth. I do not hate dogs. I just hate dogs that live next door and yap incessantly and dogs that run out and bite me all over my foot.