While on our family walk this evening - a ritual we have re-instated due to warmer weather and the need to remind Mabel why we invested in her training - we came across another dog on the loose. Mason was quite interested, while Mabel surprisingly ignored the scruff-meister. I thought the dog looked a little intimidating, but it stayed somewhat within the boundaries of its own property, so I knew it already had more cultivation than Miss Mabelline.
As we got further away from the dog, Victoria announced that she sure was glad that wasn’t a straight dog.
Excuse me??? (She has a tendency to make me do frequent double-takes.)
“I’m glad that’s not a straight dog!”
My first question (aside from what in the world have I been letting you watch on tv?) was “How in the name of Peppermint Patty do you identify a straight dog?”
“You know…one that doesn’t live anywhere and just roams all around everywhere and probably has rabies. At least that’s not a straight dog!”
“STRAAAAAAAAYYYYYY, baby. STRAY dog,” I said, fighting back the urge to burst into laughter.
“Yeah, that’s what I said!”
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