The sun glints off the neighbors new paint job, brick red and undone ‘cause he spilled the last two gallons in the grass then went off for beers.
“No, it’s not the same machine, so it can’t be a replacement, regardless of what the sales guy said, 7,240 BTUs is not he same as 12,000 and no, I don’t know why the other one won’t work.
The gate’s open and Lola, the Black dog is wandering about the back lot like a general on inspection, marking this spot then another.
The Spingers and Sophie Beagle stare through their fence, alert tails, or stump in Daisy’s case, twirling in anticipation.
See, we have two fenced yards and Lola just chooses to be alone, but today she chooses to inspect the alley, sniff at the dead bird carcass and rotting apples from the neighbor’s tree.
She won’t run off like the Sophie Beagle who lives for the excitement of being chased by humans, down the road, in the backyards of complete strangers or just in circles; not Lola, she’ll just waddle about then go home, dig a hole and lie in it.
Unless she finds fresh, warm paint to roll in; she misses the first try, gets partial on the second and a direct hit with the third.
The delivery woman is in hysterics, she’s never imagined such a thing and it’s as though she’s just now discovered laughter, and is doubled over gasping for breath, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Lola is a swath of red down one side and over an ear, two tone, she rises, fat cat like, then saunters over to share her new found appearance and to investigate the commotion.
The Spingers and Sophie Beagle stare through their fence and I just know that Sophie is explaining to the Springers that this a prime example of the cool stuff you can do if you can only get out of your yard.