Well I thought I would post something my daughter's dog again. I don't know what to do with him. I hope you enjoy this.
The other day, I came by the house early in the afternoon to pick up some parts for another job. I was surprised to find a man standing out on the road in front of my house in an orange jump suit. As I live out in the country not close to other houses, this was very unusual. Also orange jump suits around here are the special uniform for those who live in the local parish hotel run by our men in uniform. I was a bit concerned, but since my dog had him cornered on the road, at first I wasn’t concerned a whole lot until I noticed he was keeping the stranger company and kind of looked like he was looking for a handout from the man in orange. I pulled up in the driveway and got out of my truck and realized that my dog was just keeping him company. “What am I feeding this watchdog for?” I was reminded of a story I read a few years ago by Patrick McManus, where a dog showed up at his house as a kid so they called him stranger. After a while they shortened his name to Strange which fit his character, or lack thereof. He wrote that when the Hobos would come through Strange would go out and sit with him and exchange information for what little handout they could spare. He imagined the conversation would go like this, “They don’t have much but the silverware is in the top drawer by the stove”. After awhile the Hobo would move on after getting disgusted after Strange displayed some of his most unusual habits. Anyways, I decided to be cautiously friendly and waved and shouted “hey”. I got no response just a stare. This didn’t make me feel to secure and I thought, today is trash day and I know the parish sometimes uses the prisoners to help pickup and since the next house about ¾ mile away was a turnaround before they returned back by my house figured that was what was going on. I also realized I hadn’t put out the trash, so I shouted and asked if they were picking up trash. Again I got no answer, just a stare. So I decided that we had not been that trashy that week and decided to wait another week before wheeling the trash can out to the road where the stranger in orange was. I proceeded inside, but went to the window to see what might happen. My “daughter’s dog” returned to visit with him. A few minutes later the trash truck returned to pick him up. But right before he got in the truck I noticed headphones. No wander he didn’t answer back. Even my daughter ignores me when she puts hers on. I hope the dog gets the idea he is to be a watchdog someday instead of a mooch dog. Oh, the Patrick McManus books are hilarious.
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