On December 1, 2008, among national economic uncertainty and no shortage of personal, internal turmoil, we closed the sale on a lonely, vacant, 1903 Queen Anne Victorian house. Our intent is to renovate this grand neglected lady into our dream home. With some skills, a truckload of tools, a “sort of” plan, a bunch of confidence, and a limited budget another of our life adventures begins. Follow along. It’s bound to be interesting…
A new adventure by the author of the award-winning Life Is a Road book series.
Sooo…yeah…Shorty the Corgi…who is ‘Shorty the Slug’ in the mornings…NOT a morning dog…
But…even with those short stubby legs and tubby physique…he’s much faster than he looks…faster than he has any right to be…at least when there’s something he wants to chase. His “selective” hearing kicks in at these moments too…and he will ignore commands and then later…when scolded…will engage the cloaking cuteness device and avoid all ire with practiced ease.
I should already KNOW this…from the time when he yelled “Avast ya scurvy dogs!” and boarded the UPS truck, but that’s another story.
And so it was…as I opened the front door to let one of the cats in…there happened to be a hot hard-body of the cute female persuasion jogging down our street, wearing essentially a bikini…oh yeah, I’m sure it was one of those trendy exercise brand lady-sport boulder-and-butt holder thingys…but yeah…a bikini…and a skimpy one at that.
Just an FYI…the quality of the scenery in a neighborhood is important, so I am highly in favor of this practice.
Anyway, running with her was a small dog…looked like a lab-puppy…except without that puppy awkwardness.
Shorty the slug was interested in playing with the small dog…He ‘woofed’ out, “Make it so Number One” or perhaps, “More power Scotty!” and engaged his warp drive. He was out of our front yard, accelerating down the street and rapidly gaining on the testosterone-carbonating hard-body’s pup before I knew he’d gotten out the door.
And that…my friends…is how this old fat guy came to be at a dead run, yelling what was no doubt incomprehensible and somewhat threatening (to anybody but Shorty) entreaties and chasing the previously referenced bikini-enhanced testosterone-carbonator down a residential street while wearing absolutely nothing but my skivvies and socks.
“Stop shorty!”, “Come here!”, and “Dammit please stop!” and the like served only to encourage the hot-body in her exercise regimen…
She only looked back once…and then she put on a burst of speed that would put any sleek muscle-car to shame (and, mind you, inducing a similar “drooling” effect on most males withing visual range) and with her pup flying by the end of his leash and scarcely touching the ground, handily outdistanced us both…much to Shorty’s disappointment…since he plopped down in the middle of the street, turned on the “cute”, and refused to walk back home. I ended up carrying him.
They say walking the dog is a good way to meet chicks…I’m not really sure of that…
But it’s sure a good way to meet cops.
Thanks for reading!
Daniel and Carey Meyer