Tangling and Tinkling

Baby James's due date is now less than three weeks away, and hopefully he'll have the decency to wait at least until January 15th, when his daddy will arrive home from Afghanistan for his mid-deployment leave. Joyce and I (though a poor substitute) are now at Fort Sill to help Amber in whatever way we can, which (since the apartment is on a second floor) means helping her avoid as many trips up and down the steps as possible --- you know: taking the dog out for hydrant visits, making runs to the laundry room in the basement, that sort of thing.

The other day I made a trip to the hardware store to buy hooks with which to install a plaque (the family nameplate) next to the front door. When I returned from the store, I found Joyce outside --- acting as doorman for Amber's bladder-brimming Yorkie, Brody (more formally known as "Brody Watson Johnny Depp Ricardo Montalban"). Anyway, as I was preparing to install the nameplate below the house number, the downstairs neighbor came out of the opposing doorway with his Cocker Spaniel (who coincidentally also shares my name, Bob). The two dogs were thrilled to see each other, but Bob had about a half-gallon of urgent business to attend to before he could join in Brody's ecstatic dance. Unfortunately, Bob's urgency didn't impede Brody's nose-to-butt doe-see-doe --- well, at least not until Brody divined the source of his golden christening.

When Bob completed his priority task, he bolted after Brody (who knew that the proper way to evade capture by a larger faster dog who's on a leash is to run tight circles around his master). When Bob's master had finished untangling himself, Joyce held Brody as he dragged Bob away. While Joyce was holding Brody, she got a good whiff of him and thereupon resolved to straightway inform Amber of Brody's anointing lest he dash in and jump into Amber's lap.

Thus, Joyce (emerging winded from the top landing and stepping through the living room doorway) announced with dripping disgust, "Bob peed on Brody!

Amber stared back blankly, no doubt pondering (not so much why anyone would urinate on a dog) but what possible motive Joyce might have had for marrying a man who'd do such a thing. Fortunately, by the time I'd finished my chore downstairs, the girls had managed to sort out which "Bob" was which. And so my reputation has remained intact -- well, so long as I remain mindful of how seriously everyone around here seems to take that prohibition against urinating on household pets.