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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