Anyone who has met my hound dog, Little John, knows that he’s sweet as all get out but not the sharpest tool in the shed. That dog has run into doors before and fallen off couches.
Well, yesterday I was taking the children out to get fixings for gingerbread cookies. So I announced, “Let’s go out.”
All of a sudden, Little John trotted out of the room and then came back with my shoe. Wagging his tail, he dropped it in my hands.
I gave him a long look and then said, “Well, you brought me one, how about the other one?”
He left and then came back. Then he dropped my second shoe in my hands.
Yeah, I’m scared, too.
I tried to do something nice. I grew my hair long so that I could cut it off and donate it. Well, all went as planned. I held out and kept growing it out so that it was a relief when it was all lopped off.
Things were going great. I even had that warm glow of an altruistic feeling. That is until I heard my dog, Little John, in the other room. He came tearing around the corner with a shredded braid of recently cut hair trailing on either side of his face like a long brown mustache.