I knew it meant a lot to Mommy and Daddy to live three, it is close by, they used to walk my sister dog Blake there when they lived in a neighborhood across the street, and Pocket and I have strutted our stuff their too. So, in my role as their unwanted Attorney, I decided to take my Associate Dr Pocket and get my Mommy and Daddy the modular home of their dreams before God send a tornado to wipe it out.
We knew the way since we had been taken there so many times on walks. We marched right into the management offices and climbed on the chairs. A woman with thick glasses looked down at us. "Are one of you over 55?" she asked sucking on a cigarette. "We only sell if one of the buyers is over 55."
"I think Foley is over 55 in dog years," Pocket said. I growled and snapped at her.
"We are not here for us, we are here for my Mommy, and believe me she is over 55. I think she's a hundred or something. And she would like to buy one of these cardboard shacks with windows. Tanner knows why she wants to but she does. But your stupid, pupcist rules state you can only have one pet. My associate and I are ready to file suit against you if you block Mommy from buying the house because she has two dogs, or a dog and a well-groomed rat, we really don't know what she is," I said nodding towards Pocket.
"Oh, we wouldn't have a problem with two little puppies like you moving in, combined you're barely one dog."
Excuse me? Pocket and I barely one dog? She won't have a problem? I had filed papers. I had prepared briefs, ironed and folded them. I had worked on my opening, closing and middling and she was not only caving but she was going to suggest that I was just like Pocket? Me? Who has read the Iliad in the original Latin? Who made the final four of the third season of Top Chef? Who was on the short list for the Supreme Court? Me? Like Pocket Pissy pants. Oh I beg to differ and for treats.
"We are most certainly two different dogs!" I said. "We may be the same breed, but I say for you to suggest that we are alike just because of that, why, it's like saying all Italians are alike, or all Polish people are alike. It is just backwards 19th century thinking."
"Oh you are both cuties," she said. "Come up here on the desk sweety."
"I will not!" I said.
But there went Pocket, the little tart, climbing up on the desk, laying on her back, and spreading her legs. I had insisted we wouldn't put out the spread unless things were going badly, but they were going great, and there was Pocket, just giving it away.
She began to scratch Pocket's tummy and Pocket began to pant and shake her leg. Oh my gosh, get a room. "You two are so sweet, I don't know how to tell you apart." She looked at me. "You know I think I could help your Mommy get a place if you let me give you a belly rub too," she said.
"Oh for the love of Tanner," I thought. The things pretty dogs do for their Moms. I rolled on to my back and let her pet me fo r5 minutes. Then I rolled off the desk. She lit a cigarette. .
"Thanks honey," she said. "Can't wait to see you strutting your stuff around here."
I hoped I never saw her again. Before I left I checked the name plate on her desk. Ms. Edy. Hmmmm. That name seemed familiar.
We ran home and waited for Mommy. When she came we told her we had made her dreams come. (Well first we ran around in circles, barked, cried and begged to be picked up. We do that every day. We rehearse it. It's tight.)
So Mommy's dream of living in a home that can be blown down the street by a stiff wind was done. She was very happy. But then she told me someone had to buy our house first. Who wants to buy a house with Franks'n'Beans on one side and the State Mental Hospital on the other?
Holy heck, how many belly rubs am I going to have to submit to before we can move?