The Impasse in the Front Yard
The Prude, responding to a panic call from the neighbor who needed to work overtime, agreed to let his 3 dogs out to potty.
and the bichon
greeted her with rejoicing. She was wonderful! they assured her, and promised more compliments as soon as she let them down the stairs that led outside to their potties.
But Pothole, the old, arthritic golden retriever gazed mournfully at those 2 steps that separated him from the outdoor potty.
The Prude begged and encouraged and ran some water to motivate his bladder.
He sighed and limped down the steps, painfully dragging his 120 pounds into the spring air.
He performed his duties admirably, and The Prude told him it was time to come back in the house.
Pothole braced himself for the pain, put his front paws on the first step.
The Prude pushed from behind but he yelped in agony and she didn’t have the heart to continue. Maybe if she pulled from his less arthritic foreparts? Pothole filled the entire door opening so she had to climb over him into the house, careful to avoid contact with the tender aft portion of his anatomy. She turned to give a good tug.
Pothole was gone.
He had backed down the step, and into the inviting front yard.
The Prude followed, bribing him back to the house with promises of treats and affection.
But Pothole and The Prude had reached an impasse.
He looked at her with thoughtful eyes, assessing the veracity of her word.
He contemplated the warm grass.
He relieved himself of poo that would do a heifer proud.
Moving to a clean spot, and with an apologetic look for The Prude, he lowered himself inch by inch to the ground, collapsing his hindquarters the last few centimeters.
He rolled over onto his back, and gave The Prude an encouraging wink to give him a good tummy scratch.
She obliged, thinking that Pothole’s rolling days were limited.
She scratched 50 times, and then, in her best cheerleader voice, said, “Good boy Pothole!
Now let’s go in the house for a TREAT!"
Pothole looked pointedly at a spot near his left foreleg that she had missed.
She obliged, and again, with a note of desperation, called “OK Pothole! That’s all for now! Come and get the treat!”
Pothole scrunched up his face, trying to remember what a ‘treat’ was. He shrugged at the Prude. No good, he had no clue. Maybe she could remind him?
The Prude trotted into the house, grabbed a doggie treat and hurried back out, waving it temptingly at him, but just out of reach.
Come back tomorrow for the exciting conclusion of
'Pothole vs. The Prude: No Good Deed Goes Unpunished'