Dear Pretty,
I am writing to give you MY version of events at the West Montgomery County Park today because I’m sure the old woman Slow will be keeping the cell phone waves HOT tonight with some elaborate fabrication from her twisted imagination. Ha. Twisted, twisted, twisted.
First of all let me say how much I miss you and love you and if only you’d been with us at the park today I’m sure none of this would’ve happened. The Red Man sends you tons of air kisses tonight, O Sweet Pretty, and hopes that you read this TRUE account before Slow poisons your heart and soul against moi.
So we were on a WMCP adventure this morning, and it was a zippity-do-dah day, let me tell you. Blue skies, not too hot, not too cold, sunshiny day. What more could you want?
Me and the big guy Smokey Lonesome Ollie with the one blue eye and one brown eye were giddy with the excitement of running free in the dew-covered football fields. Absolutely giddy, Pretty!
Well, as Fate would have it, as soon as the old woman took us out of the Dodge Dakota and set us free inside the fence, I felt the call of Mother Nature and paused to – pardon my French, Pretty – take a dump. And not to be too graphic, but this was one of those oddities that seemed to take an inordinate amount of time to execute, if you catch my drift, and Smokey Lonesome Ollie took off like he’d been shot out of a cannon and Slow began her walk around the white chalk lines outlining the two football fields so she could make sure she walked the exact distance she always walks. Boring. Super Boring.
When I finally finished my major business, Slow was already at the opposite end of the first football field and I couldn’t see the big guy anywhere. Had he Vanished? Was he Missing? Had he jumped the chain link fence? Had The Rapture occurred and he was the only one taken? Had ET been called Home? I had to find him!!
Oh, Pretty, and then I saw the open gate that Ollie found for us behind the Port-o-Johns and just as the old woman Slow was about to figure out what happened and started running as fast as her short chunky legs would carry HER to try to close the gate before I got to it, I regret to inform you that I flew as fast as MY short legs would fly through that gate and hit the Freedom Trail with The Devil himself a/k/a Smokey Lonesome Ollie!
So, let me be perfectly clear with you. This was not my fault, Pretty. Truly it wasn’t. AND…I want to add that The Red Man was the first one to head for the Dodge Dakota when the old woman kept calling and calling our names. Can’t you just hear her, Pretty? You know she was a wreck. I mean, we were doing some major running in those woods and the poor old thing thought we were gone.
All’s well that ends well, as I’m fond of saying Pretty and of course we eventually came back to the truck when the old woman started the engine like she was leaving us. As if.
So…that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it, Pretty. I don’t know whatever possessed us to scare Slow to death but I guess it must have been all Ollie’s fault as you can plainly see. I hope you won’t be too disappointed in him. He’s such a big lug and all around great guy according to everybody. Sniff. Sniff. What’s that I smell? Bitter. Party of One.
Well, I think I’ll watch the Frasier re-runs with Slow tonight. My adventures are done for this day. When are you coming to see us, Pretty? Please come soon. We are a mess without you,
Red
Red's Rants and Raves 