Sunday, November 22, 2009
A typical Sunday, one with which we can all identify. You might chase the ball for a minute or two, then again, you might not. You might dig up a raccoon pierogi, then again, maybe you're still full from breakfast. You might consider peeing along the perimeter of the yard, or you might just want to take a nap instead.
The world seems to be nothing but a series of delightful choices.
That is, until a barbarian shows up at the gate. Your (devoted!) friend D has brought her husband's steriod-enhanced Ridgeback puppy into your palace. Best to dispatch this giant, whiney, slobbering object as soon as possible. The game is afoot.
Move close, but stay just inches away until Ridgeback acts up.
Walk near, then walk away until distracted Ridgeback pulls and complains and thoroughly annoys owner.
Left flank attack.
When Ridgeback loses all decorum, take the dominant position.
Whisper in her ear: Phoebe is the queen, Long live the queen.
Rinse and repeat.