I saw Sassy, the pit, in the park this morning. She’s more an American Staffordshire without her ears pinned back, the upper-crust version of the average pit. Wish I had a photo, but never run with my iPhone. Heaven forbid I drop it, since it’s not even paid for yet.
Wasn’t having the best morning, so when I see her coming up the hill with her brother Mac and their owner, who I’ve never spoken to, his ears always occupied with his iPod, I call out to her.
“Sassy, Sassy…it’s me, your girlfriend.”
Suddenly she turns into the terrier she is, her back straight, tail up, and comes galloping like a thoroughbred to greet me, knowing she’s in for a good heinie rub.
She’s no fool.
I smile at her master who allows us our brief visit, while Mac chases squirrels.
My whole demeanor changes in those few minutes, Sassy raising my spirits as high as her tail.
It’s a pity dogs can’t go to med school. Lord knows they’re smart enough and have the right bedside manner, unlike many a doctor that I’ve met.
Calling Dr. Pooch, you’re wanted in the ER…Calling Dr. Pooch.
But alas, when God made canines, I guess it just didn’t occur to him.
This isn’t her, but kinda what she looks like.