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Big Brass Ones

Running Into an Old Flame

May 30th 2006 6:56 am
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Only the longest of long-time readers may remember Misty, the English Springer Spaniel with whom I once had a play date. I thought it was a great success: I repeatedly tried to mount her; she bit my ear—magic was in the air. But apparently either her bipeds or my biped or all three felt that it was not a match made in heaven—I was not invited to return; nor was the visit reciprocated.

Well, you know, bitches come, and bitches go. What’re ya gonna do? Get over it is what. Move on. Which I did. A long time ago.

So yesterday, the biped takes me for an early morning hike at Fort Ord. A couple of miles into it, we round a bend, and who should I see but a little English Springer Spaniel bitch with a vaguely familiar scent. It’s Misty.

(The biped is so busy observing my interaction with this randomly encountered strange dog that he doesn’t even recognize Misty’s biped for an embarrassingly long time. He realizes I’ve met a Spaniel of some sort; he even wonders if it might be an English Springer Spaniel, because it looks sort of like Gretchen and Bob’s dog… Oh! Hi, Bob! What a doofus.)

So, anyway, we’re cordial. We're civilzed. We exchange butt sniffs. But nobody mounts anybody. Nobody gives anybody a little love bite. The magic’s gone.

See you around, kid.


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