Readers with excellent short-term memory storage will recall that yesterday I was whining that nothing was going on and that I hoped for some excitement to report from Vino on the Veranda. Something funny; a witty wisecrack ...
I got bit by a dog. In 71 (full and exciting) years, no dog has ever bitten me. Never. I'm not counting puppy nips; they're too trivial to mention. The bite simply lifted a flap of skin on my right forearm about the size of a dime which I was able to paste back where it belonged after I washed it with soap and water. Band-Aid slapped on to hold my patch job together and that was that.
This is what I think the dog might have been thinking:
"Heh, heh, look at Senior Dog - he's running to greet two strangers, who stole onto this terrace without making a peep until they greeted My Lady. They could be anybody!
"Naturally, I'm on a leash and I can't run at them, dammit! Look at him, wriggling so ingrationatingly. 'Hey, buddy! You're only a shelter dog, just like me! Don't you be stealing the show with all this cute stuff!
"Wait a minute, here she is... just a little closer, Strange Bitch and I'll show you who the guard dog is in this house! (leap, bite) Gotcha! Heh, heh."
That is reasoning that I can not only accept, but agree with as well.
To find out what you can do to help stray dogs, take a look at RoverRescue.com
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