Years ago Bud and I went to a car dealership. For once, we had to wait awhile for a sales person. Nearby, another couple was also waiting and naturally, we started talking. After a few minutes, I misspoke, embarrassing myself thoroughly by announcing loud and clear, for all who cared to listen, ” I’m tired of standing here waiting. I think I’ll just sh__t on the bumper”. Of course I’d meant to say “sit.” Bud and the other couple stared, then they walked off. I wanted to run after them explaining, but gave it up as hopeless. God only knows what I might have said once I was rattled.
Bubba, the second in our series of four American Eskimo Dogs, now respectfully referrered to as the late Uncle Bubba, was a great and fearsome dog. We’d been plagued by moles in our yard, which we’d been unsuccessfully battling. Bubba was extremely interested in the beasts, as any fine hunting dog would have been, but had never actually spotted one. He’d continually dirtied up his beautiful white coat in attempting to dig out the wily Star-Nosed Mole, courageously enduring bath after bath. Unbelievably, his heroism eventually paid off! Finally digging one out, he presented his prize gallantly! Each of us bragged over his trophy in turn, praising him highly!
He kept his trophy handy all afternoon, bringing it forward from time to time when his ego needed a little boost. Sadly, for Bubba, a passing crow also admired his catch, swooped down, and snatched it from him. Devastated, Bubba loped behind him, barking in fury. “Hey, come back here! That’s my mole.”