Deputy & dawg.

A couple of weeks ago the coast looked clear, so I unleased the hounds into the front yard. Little did I know that the incident would involve law enforcement and a firearm. 

It's been hot, and the hairy mutts can't get much exercise in the heat of the day, plus that's work time for the saps who pay the bills. So the trip to Peeville outside is a joyful event. 

I generally make sure there's no one around, because old dog Tralfaz runs out without a leash. The little dude Izzy gets a leash, but Fazzy knows better than to go in the street. 

However, Fazz does bark and then greet any pedestrians with wagging tail. Since he is so huge, though, people can get scared, and hear the barking but ignore the wagging tail. (The old joke has the owner saying, "Don't you know that barking dogs don't bite?" and the other guy saying, "I know that and you know that, but I don't think your dog knows that." Ha ha!)

What happened was a fellow in slacks, dress shirt, and necktie suddenly appeared around the neighbor's house, and Fazzy went galumphing up to him. "Is he friendly?" the man yelled. "Too friendly!" I answered. And Tralfaz got some pats and cheer, and was happy. Meanwhile, Izzy was dragging me as hard as he could to get in on it. 

It turned out the man was from the sheriff's office, and had a holstered gun on his belt to prove it. 

Having gotten some love, Fazzy went to find a nice quiet place to pee, but Izzy stayed with me. It turned out the sheriff had an application from one of the neighbors to become a corrections officer, and had some questions for people in the 'hood. I was glad to help out. It was basic character stuff, like did the guy and his family do anything shifty, were they considerate, things like that. Well, three years ago they had a graduation party that was too loud and too long, but I didn't bring that up. Ever since they've been ideal neighbors, unlike the families that live on either side of our place. 

While I was answering the questions, and the fellow was taking notes, I suddenly realized that Izzy was licking the man's holster, right at the business end of the gun. I casually yanked him away while trying to look like I wasn't pulling on an 80-pound dog. I didn't think the gun would go off, but I didn't want the man to be alarmed, thinking someone was going for his weapon. Knowing this puppy, the lick is often the father of the bite; if he thought the holster tasted good, it might have been chomp city, and the whole congenial discussion could have gone south in a hurry. 

Fortunately all was well, and the man left with my recommendation for the fellow up the block. If he wants to be a corrections officer, then God bless him. For me, it's all I can do to control the hairy little inmates at my place.