I’ve met the Dom Deluise of dogs with a matching owner.
A Saint Bernard named Benny with a tongue that could stretch to Pittsburgh, and a coat, coating the park like white and brown confetti, is loping alongside me.
You know how they say, dogs and their owners resemble one another?
It’s pretty uncanny in this case. They are both huge with no common grace whatsoever, clumsy, tripping over paws and feet as if they have spares, like tires you keep in the trunk.
The only Saint Bernard I’ve ever known was Neil, on the TV show Topper, so when I mention this to Dom’s dad, he shrugs though he’s age appropriate to remember.
When I add that Neil drank martinis, he gets defensive. “Yeah, so, he took a nip now and then, so what?”
Not normally speechless, I decide to let it pass, especially after noticing the amount of dandruff floating off his collar.
Dom, whose real name is, Skipper (perhaps dad is a Gilligan’s Island fan) is now slobbering all over my Nikes like a portable fountain, as I think how nice it would be if dogs could carry handkerchiefs.
I then look into those big syrupy brown eyes and say, “Skipper, or is it Skip…
CUT IT OUT.”
As they stumble away, I hear Dom Deluise whisper from the ether…
Susannah, behave, he’s only a dog. As for his owner, why not suggest a little Head and Shoulders, couldn’t hurt.
I'm just a girl who likes to write slightly on slant. I've had a career in fashion, dabbled in film and to be honest, I don't like talking about myself. Now my posts are another matter so I will let them speak for themselves.
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