The Yard Sale

What is it about dogs that make us put up with piss on the floor, fur embedded in the upholstery, and me sleeping on the edge of the bed so that they are comfortable? Dogs don't look like us, they can't go out and get a job to help pay for their relentless appetites, and you have to take them outside to poop, even in the worst weather. Yet here they are, sleeping on the sofa, barfing up grass on the rug, and tripping me as they try to get to the kitchen before I do. What is the bond that keeps me from kicking these non-humans out into the streets? What is it that has me talking baby talk to a ninety pound beast that would trample me for a steak bone?

This morning one of my neighbors was holding a yard sale. It was around seven thirty in the morning and I was on my first circuit of the neighborhood with Chandler. I realize that Chandler is a bit rambunctious, so I waved hello as we walked by and continued on to his favorite poop patch without stopping to look over my neighbor's crap. Fifteen minutes later, I am on my second go around, this time with Sasha. I figure Sasha is a small dog, twenty pounds and very friendly, so I walked up to the yard sale and started browsing. It wasn't very long before the yard sale mistress came over and scolded me for bringing Sasha into her yard.
"No dogs. Get the dog out of here!"
She was very rude, and abrupt in her manner. Now I know that she has every right to ban dogs from her crap sale, but it was her tone that pissed me off. It was as if she had insulted my own blood. No matter how many times Sasha pisses on my bathroom floor, she is still my little girl. I am not a bitter person, and I don't hold grudges... well not for too long just as long as I get the last word in. Tonight, around ten thirty, when I am walking Chandler and he is pulling me towards his favorite pooping grounds, I'll get my last word in. It'll be to Chandler, "Go ahead boy, poop right there. Right next to that yard sale sign."