Thursday, January 6, 2011

Save that Bra

All is peaceful. My wife is relaxing in front of the television and I am in my favorite spot, in front of my computer, engrossed. Suddenly a black face is peering at me in the doorway, Baxter, with a flesh coloured bra clenched between his teeth. Damn the dog.

It is normally a frustrating procedure to persuade the dog to relinquish 'his' possession. He retrieves, but on his own terms. If I put my hand out, he'll pull back. If I chase him I'll be left for dust. On the other hand my wife does not want any holey modification to her underwear. I suddenly have a bright idea.

Jumping up I yell, "bra alert," and make a dash for the garage, Baxter hammering after me, still clenching his prize. I grab the mower and wheel it quickly onto the grass. He wheels around, dropping the bra. More fun to be had chasing me pushing the mower. I grab the opportunity and run to pick up the garment. There, no holes, just dust and dirt.

Baxter's adrenalin is pumping now, circling the mower at a pace, trying to out-bark the noise he thinks will be made when I start the engine. I push the mower back into the garage and the dog loses interest.

Thank goodness, another bra saved.
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