Posted in Life


Sable our Bassett howled, gazing out the window at a big black dog — mostly Rottweiler — cruising the neighborhood.  It was Timber, from a few houses down who had gotten out of the garage on Monday morning, just looking for something to do.  When I went out to corral him he snarled, but wagged pathetic stump of a tail to let me know his heart wasn’t in it.  I had grabbed the retractable leash, rated at 10 lbs., to help take him home.  I clipped it onto his collar, but he promptly bit through the cord like a piece of spaghetti.  Note to self:  take higher rated leash next time.  After he slobbered on my pants, Timber let me escort him home, and I haven’t seen him since.  But a man drove by the other day, asking if I had seen that enormous black dog who scared him “s***less” one morning.  Chuckling inwardly, I acted concerned, but knew that Timber really hadn’t intended any harm.  My neighbor Stan thinks I’m a hero for saving the neighborhood.  I think I just smelled enough like my own dogs that Timber knew I was OK.

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