Animals will never cease to amaze or entertain me.
We have a new doggie in the neighborhood. A German Shepherd puppy called Jack, and is he ka-utte.
You don’t see many Shepherds in these parts, never a popular breed. A former friend said, it’s because they’re Hitler dogs and attacked kids in the south during the Civil Rights Movement.
Yeah well, they’re also rescue dogs in many cases and companions for the blind and handicapped.
Now you might understand why we’re not friends anymore, but back to Jack.
He looks like a Jack, long and lean, a glimmer in his eye as if he’s about to make a pass.
He’s already walking like a man, fast as he can, as if he’s running the Kentucky Derby, however, he also has a fondness that involves, in my case, my old jeans. He tries to unzip them, the little sex maniac he’s destined to become.
Of course, I laugh along with his mother who’s Polish and the size of a bakery, but today, he managed to pull it right down causing my baggy, historical pants, that if could only talk, would be saying, we’ve seen this all before.
Al, the doorman, the only one I like, came running to help me, to remove Jack from my fly, if you will, since he just wouldn’t let go. Imagine me, on the pavement, my rear in partial view being sans culottes, since I was just making a quick coffee run. He was so undone by this, Al, not Jack, that I ended up comforting him.
“Now now Al, he’s just a puppy,” as his mistress yelled at him in Polish.
“Ah, he’s Polish,” Al said, “now it makes sense.”
Neither Jack nor his mom caught the slur, I’m happy to report as I finally zipped back up.
“What’s that Jack? Do I wanna come over and have a drink later? Sorry, maybe when I know you a little better.”
How do you say WOOF, in German?