Out of the Frying Pan, Into the Fire

Those bells and whistles must have been put on mute 'cause I sure didn't hear them as we turned into the driveway. The first thing I noticed was a boxer tied up to a tree in the backyard. I didn't like that. But I don't remember asking my daughter to turn the car around.

Walking into the house, the second thing I noticed was someone smoking a cigarette. In the house. With an infant. Where WERE those bells and whistles? Do people still smoke with children in the house? What about second-hand smoke? What about cancer? But that's another story.

But the folks were nice enough and they let the puppies out of the crate. All of the puppies. All at once. I don't know if there were more than 5, but it seemed like a dozen. All of them running all over the place, tumbling over each other, jumping into my lap. They were cute. They were cuddly. But where was the black female runt?

Ah, there she was, trying to fade into the background. Trying to look unobtrusive. Trying to not call attention to herself. Because as soon as she did, the other puppies started biting her. I bet you hear the bells and whistles. And yet, as the sage Yoda the Jedi warrior would say, deaf I still was.

Next: Sonny!!