I was taking my Dad for his walk the other day. If I don’t get him out he stinks like sweat socks. I don’t mind but mom complains. I was having a sniff when suddenly, from behind a fire hydrant, came a chihuahua riding a segway with a siren on the handlebars. He motioned for me to pull over.
“May I see your license?” the chihuahua asked.
I, a law abiding dog, proudly showed him my tag.
“I am sorry, it's expired,” the chihuahua said.
How can this be? I looked up at my Dad and saw him fidgeting.
“I can explain, officer,” he said. “We got the license, it is all paid for, but I had a problem getting it on the little ring. I promise to do so when we get home.”
“It’s not that simple,” the officer said. “We live in a world of laws, and if you flaunt those laws, there is a price to pay. I fine you four treats.”
I know Daddy brings treats with him to reward me if I am overcome with the need to perform a bodily function (and it needs to be a specific bodily function, as my cousin Oscar found out when mid-walk he mounted a lollipop poodle and got the hose turned on him.)
Daddy was quick to grab the treats and was about to handle them to the chihuahua when I barked at him to stop.
This was very suspicious. I had never seen a dog patrol this park before. We had private dog security.
I asked to see his badge. “I don’t have to show, I’m with ICE.”
“Capades?” I asked.
“No, I have been ordered to make sure all dogs are licensed.”
I am a descendent of the great Judge Foley Monster and I felt compelled to fight this to the Supreme Court I said.
But then my dad gave him the treats.
When the chihuahua had rolled away I barked at my Dad and asked why he gave my treats away.
“Right now it is best not to mess with ICE,” he said “even if its a chihuahua on Segway.”
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