Dingo dog!
We had a mixed Pekingese/Toy Mancester pup named Lucky that had a thing about it's hindquarters. If you snuck up on it and poked it in the butt it would growl and jump and snap, and as long as you were out of the way, it was a sight to behold.
Anyway. one sunday evening in the spring, a day a lot like today, I was working on a homework assignment, (or supposed to be) but I was actually laying on the floor in the hallway watching Marlin Perkins photographing Dingoes somewhere Down Under.
Anyway, I'm watching, and Lucky is laying asleep under dad's feet, dad is sitting back in his LazyBoy juust beginning to snore. Dad's feet are a mess- he couldn't afford decent shoes when he was a kid, and as an adult, he wore mostly work shoes that tortured him. He had bunions, and callouses, and corns galore, just about every day he'd soak his feet in Epsom salts trying to get the corns soft enough to be abraded off. I'm pretty sure they were probably always tender and in some kind of pain.
Anyway, Marlin, on screen, is talking about how the 'dingo has no bark, and makes almost no sound in the wild' and I though to myself, "Lucky sure ain't a dingo" so I poked lucky with the sharp end of the pencil and yelled "DINGO DOG!!" and lucky flew straight up in the air, came down snapping and biting at dad's tortured feet, and in ten seconds, a furious re-enactment of the little known Bruce Lee film, 'Flying Belts of Fury" began to take place in the living room, when dad ripped off his belt, and began to wail on me, the dog, the wall, the lamp, his chair, the TV set, and the doorframe. He yelled in his big basso profundo voice for me to get my ass back to my homework, the dog to get back in it's cage, turned the TV off, and limped off to bed. I had belt welts on my armpits, and I deserved them deeply.
Anyway. one sunday evening in the spring, a day a lot like today, I was working on a homework assignment, (or supposed to be) but I was actually laying on the floor in the hallway watching Marlin Perkins photographing Dingoes somewhere Down Under.
Anyway, I'm watching, and Lucky is laying asleep under dad's feet, dad is sitting back in his LazyBoy juust beginning to snore. Dad's feet are a mess- he couldn't afford decent shoes when he was a kid, and as an adult, he wore mostly work shoes that tortured him. He had bunions, and callouses, and corns galore, just about every day he'd soak his feet in Epsom salts trying to get the corns soft enough to be abraded off. I'm pretty sure they were probably always tender and in some kind of pain.
Anyway, Marlin, on screen, is talking about how the 'dingo has no bark, and makes almost no sound in the wild' and I though to myself, "Lucky sure ain't a dingo" so I poked lucky with the sharp end of the pencil and yelled "DINGO DOG!!" and lucky flew straight up in the air, came down snapping and biting at dad's tortured feet, and in ten seconds, a furious re-enactment of the little known Bruce Lee film, 'Flying Belts of Fury" began to take place in the living room, when dad ripped off his belt, and began to wail on me, the dog, the wall, the lamp, his chair, the TV set, and the doorframe. He yelled in his big basso profundo voice for me to get my ass back to my homework, the dog to get back in it's cage, turned the TV off, and limped off to bed. I had belt welts on my armpits, and I deserved them deeply.
posted by og at 5:08 AM
