"IT'S A DOG'S LIFE..."
"THAT'S WHAT YOU SAY, NOT ME," sez Mikey.
Today I had wanted to talk about language, literature, music, maybe even art, but serendipity struck, as sometimes happens. Just as he was leading me down the driveway for our morning walk, -- actually, as usual, I was dragging him down the driveway -- when we hit the gate, the one where he's installed the BEWARE OF DOG sign, which always makes me smile either going out the gate, or coming back in, anyhow there, at the gate, on the outside, sat another dog.
"Hey, what's up with that?" I thought to myself, just as he said almost exactly the same thing, outloud. "What's up with this?" I heard him ask. "Don't worry about it," I'm thinking, "I'll take care of this." We walk out the gate and I immediately go up to this intruder dog, to do a little checking and sniff him out -- I can tell immediately this dog's a male. Smaller than me, scrawny, probably underfed, grey and a bit timid looking.
You need to know that stray dogs are nothing unusual around here. It happens all the time, at least once a week. Hey, look at me. How do you think I got here in the first place? But, that's a story for another day. This stray appears to have been abandoned just recently. Still has an electrical cord dangling, tied around his neck. Just as he leans down to inspect the dog, the cur bares his teeth and snaps at him. Well, for me, that's all it takes. I'm all over the mutt. Snarling, snapping and in a flash I've got him flat on his back. He tells me, "STOP THAT, MIKEY!" so I back off a little to see what's going to happen next.
He leans down towards the cowering mongrel who's acting all docile for the moment. He doesn't touch the dog, but he does pull on the electrical cord, coaxing the pooch back onto its feet. Then it happens, the hound snaps at him, again. That's if for me. I'm back on that airhead before he knows what hit him. Two barks, a deep-throated growl and a bite on the heels and that maniac is headed for the bamboo forest. "Hey! Where's that dog going?!" I hear him say. "Into the jungle, where he belongs," I silently reply. "Watch out for the big iguana!" I holler as the mangy fleabag disappears behind some bamboo shoots.
By the way, iguana tastes just like chicken -- only a little fattier.
MIKEY
Casa Mulero
Mulero Valley
Santa Olaya, PR