Going To The Dogs

The old saying: People never cease to amaze me is applicable.

In America there may be more cooperation reporting dog abuse than child abuse. However, Miss Molly The Beagle couldn't be happier about it. She relishes attention-- regardless that it may be a bit negative.

Miss Molly leads a simple, quite life. She regularly gets bathed once a week and surprise treats every-other-day. She has her own easy chair, which she doesn't share. She has her particular pillow; her corner; and her room. Albeit she doesn't like her room and doesn't like to be told to go to her room. Instantly she becomes a sedate, droopy eyed, sorrow-seeking mammal. You've seen the type.

What Miss Molly does like, in fact love, is to go. Go somewhere. Go anywhere. She doesn't care if it's a 10-minute trip or a 12-hour trip. She abhors being left behind and when she is, never fails to re-design every shoe she can find. It's just the Beagle nature. She feels entitled, you know.

The second she sees me grab my purse, she starts with the: Can I go? howls and races to the door. Yesterday she pushed her way out the front door and jumped in the car. We were off to the YWCA for my workout. It's probably true that a lot of shady characters hang out around the "Y" -- but we have to hang somewhere.

I parked and as always, Miss Molly settled into her passenger seat. I rolled the windows one-third way down and the cool evening air settled around her. I said my goodbye -- see ya later alligator, locked the car, and strutted into the gym.

I'm not crazy about working out. In fact, I don't want to work out. But here I am, middle aged with a spread middle. Plus, I'm short. It's really hard to hammer myself into some other shape. What's wrong with squatty, anyway?

I say my hello's and grab an empty bicycle, set the timer for thirty minutes and then ride to the wind (as I stare into a blank wall). Bored, I remind myself how much safer it is to cycle indoors. 19-1/2 minutes left to go. Sweat. 19. Huff. Huff. 18-3/4. Puff.

From out of nowhere appear two police officers -- they would like to speak with me. I know what this means. I watch TV. Being there are two of them though, one of me, and a whole bunch of "Y" on-lookers, I quickly agree. Smart, uh?

"Is that your white SUV in the parking lot?" I'm thinking, how did you guess? Was it because you just finished running my license plate which yielded the owner's name? I nodded. "Maa'aam," (you know there may be a problem when someone addresses you as Ma'am), "We've had two reports about leaving your dog in the SUV tonight."

Mustering my best poker face, I casually remarked "Oh, what's the concern?" as words echoed inside my head: "What? That lazy mutt?" Nonchalantly, I wiped the dripping sweat from my nose, tilted my head sideways to impress them with my willingness to listen.

"We noted that you left proper ventilation for her." "Yes, yes I did--that's what the law requires." "Well, yes ma'aaaaam, it is, but we got two reports. Folks find it worrisome."

I know not to start an argument with someone whose authority exceeds mine, but I gotta say it was pretty hard not to demand an answer or two, i.e. "What the heck are you doing at the YWCA acknowledging I didn't violate the law?" "Isn't there criminal activity going on somewhere in this city with which you can entertain yourself?"

But, I didn't.


© Coninc., TheDownsideUp.Com 2006