And by tale, I mean true story; a howling good yarn.
For reasons I can't recall (as the men in my family generally view pleasure shopping as highly as a 24-hr intestinal illness), a while back on a Saturday, my entire human family, plus both corgis, enjoyed an outing at our local dog-friendly mall. About 17 minutes into the fun - due to
frayed nerves widely different tastes - it was decided that (for maximum enjoyment) the humans would split up by gender, and the dogs would stay with me.
Don't get me wrong; I enjoy leading the dogs around this particular upscale, open-air mall about as much as I like receiving gift cards (in theory) so I can afford to actually shop in a few of its stores (read: Anthropologie and Tiffany & Co.); it's just that when I've got two ecstatic dogs to handle, PLUS two birthday-money-laden-teenagers-on-a-mission, things can get a little, well...harried.
After an hour or so of shopping, as we backtracked our way toward the place where the boys were waiting-- me, struggling to keep the dogs' leashes untangled, while balancing a heavy purse (that had slid off my shoulder) and a couple shopping bags on a throbbing wrist; and my two teenagers, bickering about not having enough time to look at all the things --I noticed in my peripheral vision, a small child hurriedly approaching me and the dogs, shouting something I couldn't quite make out.
"What's that?" I asked him with divided attention, trying not to sound irritated (that neither he nor his guardian - wherever s/he was - could tell that I was in no mood for chit-chat).
"mumble mumble woof?!" he blurted, with his finger pointed at Dewi, only he didn't say "mumble"; I just couldn't understand him.
"I'm sorry; what was that about woofs? Does he woof? Do you want to know whether he woofs?" I tried again (maybe he'd nod his head in agreement, if I guessed correctly).
"Nuh uh, mumble mumble mumble a WOOF?!!" he protested, his frustration with my lack of comprehension visibly mounting.
By this time, the dogs were whining and pulling, trying desperately to get to the little boy for pets, my kids' were doing heaven knows what - NOT offering to help me with my load, and I was about ready to drop
kick everything but the dogs and take off running to the car! But instead, I looked the little boy square in the eyes and exclaimed, "YES, he's a woof!!"
Then I heard, "MOMMAYYYY! HE'S A WOOF! HE'S A WOOOOOOF! MOMMAYYYY!" And the boy ran away to his mother (who'd been having a separate conversation, a few feet away), hugged his face to her knees, and refused to walk back in my direction.
|Beware of the Woof|
Meanwhile, I situated my stuff, gathered my human family and smiled, as Jon Farleigh and my new "wolf" happily trotted, alongside, into the parking lot.
I tell you, it really happened. :-)