Yesterday, I was sitting on the couch with Simone. She turned about sharply, sniffed her derriere and faced me. Her nose twitched to the left. It twitched to the right. She looked horrified.
Years ago, I had a Dalmation named Howard. He was not the sharpest tool in the shed. Anyway, I lived in a house in east Memphis on Peg Lane. It was a California Contemporary. Laid on a slab, like most homes here, someone had installed hardwood floors. They did not insulate between the flooring and the concrete. When you walked across it, the effect was rather like the sound box of a guitar. All noises were amplified. When Howard walked on the wooden floors, he clicked like a couple of ladies in high heels on their way to the restroom. Throwing a ball for him rang out like the Lord of the Dance was performing in the living room. And when Howard, sitting down, tooted on the floor? It was like a symphony rehearsal.
Howard would fling himself around, startled. He would pace in circles, growling and searching for the offending musical instrument. I was no help. Eventually, he would make his way over to me, as I lay crumpled on the floor. Dying with laughter. Because I am mature beyond my years.
Yeah, Simone didn't find me funny either.