The Ruby Rose Report: A Visit from the Halflings

 

It was a normal Sunday afternoon. My Dad was working, and Mommy and I, sitting in her recliner, watching something mindless on the TV and happily drifting in and out when there was a knock at the door.

I jumped off the recliner and ran to it barking. Could it be a person? Since the first of the year, Mommy's brother and sister have come over, and a couple of people to fix stuff. Our house has fewer visitors than a Bobby Kennedy Jr. rally.

It's how I like it.

The door opened and a man who I never met came in like he owned the place and called my Mommy mom. Hey, you swarthy bastard, she's my Mom. She did not correct him and I realized it was my long-lost brother from Florida.

Then, trailing him were three little people, with tiny little fingers and feet, barely half the size of the humans. I began barking to warn my new brother and old mom that we were being invaded by hobbits. Then they attacked my mom with kisses and hugs. I continued to bark out warnings, but no one was paying attention to me. Then something awful happened.

The hobbits began to pay attention to me.

I was trapped. They got down on the floor and surrounded me. They let me sniff their hands. They smelled orange. It wasn't bad. They gently touched me. I could tell they were familiar with dogs. I got ear scratches, head rubs, neck tickles, and butt scratches. I tried to keep my stubby trail from waging, but tails have minds of their own.

I had not realized how starved for attention I was, but then it got to be too much, and I jumped up on Mommy. Daddy came home from work and they settled down to talk, and I put things together

The man was Mommy's son from Florida and the hobbits were his children. That is why they smell like oranges. Mommy called them her grandchildren. They were good and I liked them, but I will have to spend more time with them before I deem them grand. 

Then they got up to leave. They would be going back to Florida. I have lived in both states and I have no idea why they would go back to Florida in the summer. If it is hotter than ass here, then in Florida it is hotter than ass on a Miami Monday wearing long johns and black corduroy pants.

Seeing them made my parents happy, and I did enjoy them too. But then I felt bad because I was missing them.

You have to be careful who you open your door to, you could like them for an hour, and miss them for a year.