Let Sleeping Dogs Lie


"You're not so smart," she said.  "Or at least as smart as you pretend
to be," she said shaking a stick at me.  I wasn't offended by her remarks.
It seemed as good a place as any for us to start a dialogue.  "If you're so
smart, why did you run over my dog?" she said.  "I didn't run over any
dog," I said.  "Well, why's he lying in the driveway that way?"  "Well,
because he's dead."  "Dead?" she said, sounding surprised.  "Then you did
run over him."  "No," I said.  "Things die sometimes of natural causes.
Maybe he was old," I said somewhat at a loss.  "No, he wasn't old.  I just
got him yesterday.  He was just a pup.  And now, there he is, lying in the
driveway squashed.  There's tire tracks running up and down his back.
What do you have to say about that?"  What could I say if she was going
to behave that way?  Still I couldn't help the deep sense of satisfaction I
derived from telling her I didn't drive.  "Well, how did you get here," she
asked.  "Fly?"  "I walked," I said.  "Besides that dog has been dead for days."
She pointed the stick to where the dead dog lay.  "For days?  You don't say,"
she said.  "Imagine that?  I was supposed to take him for a walk," she said
and began to weep.  "All this time I thought he was asleep.  Well, now my
burden is lifted.  What a relief.  So we can stay here and talk," she said.  "I
don't know if I can stay here with that dog lying there like that," I said.  "So
that's it?" she said tossing away the stick.  "Well, suit yourself.  I have to find
a new pet," she said and left.  "Not so smart," I said beneath my breath.  I'm
not the one that's been trying to play fetch with a dog that's dead a week.  
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