The first time was when I was a kid back in Pocatello, and for some reason, thought that our dog Fred would enjoy a lively game of no-hands tug-o’-war with a hambone he was chewing on. He must not have believed my assurances that I was just playing and wasn’t really going to take it away from him. Or maybe he just didn’t understand the rules. Either way, there was lots of blood. None of it his.
The second was about 6-8 years ago in Salt Lake City. Some friends and I were enjoying a nice breakfast up the canyon at Ruth’s Diner, which happened to have an elaborate Bloody Mary bar. It’s
As I believe that a kind word and an honest gesture of friendliness can solve the world’s problems, I said something (I’m told) like “oooh, the little puppy just needs some kisses!” and proceeded to lean in for some sweet loving licks.
I guess some creatures just aren’t ready for the kinder, gentler world of which I dream.
Due to the aforementioned conditions of the morning, there wasn’t much pain involved. “What a fortunate time for this to happen!” I thought to myself. Stepping back, I turned toward my friends and some people entering the diner, and calmly said “Odd!” Apparently, the strangers hadn’t seen that amount of blood before, because they seemed a bit shocked and (overly) concerned. But we were all having a good laugh about things, my friends explained that I was a product of the Pocatello public school system, and we drove on back into town.
The latest incident took place outside the neighborhood pub that I frequent. Lest you think I’m a complete idiot incapable of learning, this time I asked the people if I could pet him first, then held my hand out for him to sniff. As god as my witness, I swear that dog wanted some kisses. This was, I discovered, not the case. Dang.
While things happened a little too fast for me to actually snap any pictures, I found some fairly accurate representations of what unfolded on the googlewebs:
Above: Approximate size of my new buddy.
Above: Sweetly asking for kisses.
Above: More kisses, please!
Above: Strolling into the pub to order a nice beverage.
Above: Hanging out with my new friend.As it turns out, the dog belonged to one of the servers there, and she bought me a couple of beers, so no regrets!
I was told that immediately after the incident, someone hurried inside and told the bartender what had happened:
Customer: Someone just got bit by a dog outside!
Bartender & inside customers: Oh my god! Who?
Customer: The Dead Acorn!
Bartender & inside customers: Oh. (All go back to what they were doing.)
I'm truly blessed.
5 comments:
In my own defense: I was not the bartender in reference. I would have at least feigned concern:
My goodness! Someone should go ...out and. ..mumble something mumble, mumble...".
The only place actually bleeding was right on my lip, and I was able to get something cold on it almost immediately. Ah, beer ... god's own antiseptic.
My biggest regret is that the people who were hanging out with the dog and I weren't quick enough to pull off the "I thought you said your dog doesn't bite!" "Well, it's not my dog!" exchange.
It is my understanding that dogs recognize true character in a person, is that not one of your attributes?
I saw the dog again yesterday and tried to say hi again. He wants no part of me. Someone suggested that maybe I remind him of his previous (not nice) owner, but the "really good judge of character" theory is just as feasible, if not more so.
Wish my cat had been as smart as that dog...lol!
Post a Comment