We Must Pro-Tect This Park!

Zippity-do-dah! Zippity-ay! My, oh my what a wonderful day. Plenty of sunshine heading my way, zippity-do-dah, zippity-ay. So the old woman Slow has finally made herself useful and loads me and Smokey Lonesome Ollie in the Dodge Dakota this morning to go to the Park. Mr. Bluebird on my shoulder dah dah dah dee dee dee shine on me sunshine, walk with me world…oh my that’s a different feel-good tune.

Ahhh, here we are at the Park. Big production getting out of the truck and gathering shit bag, leash, camera, etc., etc., etc. by the daffy old twit. Geez Louise. Off we go, old woman. Get a move on.

Have you ever seen a prettier day in Texas? A little windy, but no worries. Bringing cooler weather. Feels like autumn for a change. Clear blue skies and I bet even Seattle doesn’t have any bluer ones, although to hear Slow sing it, the bluest skies you’ll ever see are in Seattle. And the hills the greenest green blah blah blah. Whatever. The day is perfect and the Park belongs to me and the Big Guy and the old woman… until a suspicious official white Park ranger pickup truck drives up to the football fields where we’re playing.

I sniff DANGER in the air and make a beeline for the gate. Smokey Lonesome Ollie lopes along beside me, but Slow has already started her walk around the field and doesn’t see what I see. Another Pup has come to our Park! Disaster with a Capital D! Curses, foiled again – an intruder is about to rain on my parade.

Hey, Park Peep – don’t you take that Pup out of your truck! Dammit. He’s opening the door and bringing that small ball of fur right over here to our Park. He’s disrespecting us. He puts the little dog down on the ground inside our Park. We must pro-tect our Park! Okay, Ollie, for once in your life do something right and make like the Big Dog you are. I’ll bark and twirl and generally scare the hell out of him, and you jump him and pretend you’re going to tear his little guts out. Now, Go Go Go!!

So we’re having this free-for-all with Ollie acting like Cujo and me barking and twirling and the little dog squealing at the top of his lungs and the next thing I know the Park Peep picks up his little Pup that he mistakenly dropped over the fence to play with us killer dogs just as the old woman Slow comes huffing and puffing back yelling at me and Ollie to stop right this minute followed immediately by going into her HUGE apology routine about how sorry she is but she has crazy dogs and on and on. REALLY, my dear. Remember your blood pressure.

Of course, all’s well that ends well as I like to say, and the Park Peep shouldered his share of the blame by saying he didn’t realize we were the kind of dogs that would BITE (I’m not sure what he meant by that?) and that he shouldn’t have tried to find friends for his dog in the Park. Chalk it up to a misunderstanding and let bygones be bygones. Mighty nice of you, Park Peep, but let’s face it. The Red Man Rules in the Park and out of it. Without a doubt.