SPEAKING OF HOT
Speaking of hot dogs… recently returned home, flying high from the extravanganza of Rocketman, the Elton John biopic that’s everything it should be! I park the car, and in the dark, spot a breadbox-sized Terrier dog, fluffy and white, marking its trail upon each tree leading to my spot. Its gold heart tag gleams from the nearby streetlight. Whose pup is this? No viewable owner standing out ’n’ about, and the dog’s moving at a good clip. I step out to the street and tentatively round the back of the car, where the dog’s just lifted its leg to another tree. As it brings its eyes to mine, in a fuh-lash (!) it leaps, it bounds towards me in full barky snarl. I’m being chased but my feet don’t yet understand, so I jump backward, afraid to stumble on my bum and meet a face full of raging fur. I get all my parts moving in the same direction and proceed to make several figure eights amongst a coupla full on sprints in trying to flee the mirthless monster, fearing the moment its little teeth meet my flesh. I fling off my sweater, using it as an unintentional blanket at which the little guy charges repeatedly, allowing time to run back to the car versus down the slick grass slope where on-duty sprinklers keep me from the sweet freedom of my far away front door. The fur beast nips at my heels with renewed ferocity as I scramble back into the front seat just as a car speeds by, leaving me quickly fearing for my captor’s life. In the silence, I hear a victorious sniff, and see the alpha beast saunter off in the direction from which it’s come, back to the deep dark deadness of night. No doubt, to a nearby home stocked with dog treats, for warriors of the road.
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