Danny and the Terror

I’m back! It is I, Danny the Dog, everyone’s favorite pooch. I took a few days off from my writing chores so my human, Andrew, could use the computer. He had to work on some book he’s writing. I told him I’d do it for him, but no, he told me that I don’t write in his style. Well duh! I could have told him that. My style of writing is so much better than his.

If I remember correctly, I once told you how fearless I am. And I am fearless. However, I have a story to convey that I am not proud of. I was not going to tell you about it, but Andrew says that if I’m going to write about myself, I have to tell of my foibles as well as my strengths. I didn’t know I had foibles, but if I do, perhaps I should see a vet and have them looked at.

Well, I’ve dilly-dallied long enough. Here’s my sad tale.

Andrew has this friend—a female friend. Yeah, I know. I too was surprised that he had a friend, let alone a female friend. But during my long life, I’ve been witness to stranger things. So this friend, whose name is Suzanne, came to visit last week and she brought her dog with her.

Now, I am a nice dog … a peaceful dog am I. I come from a long line of peace-loving dogs. In fact, my father was so peace-loving he bit the mailman only once a week. But as all of my canine readers will attest to, when a new dog comes onto your turf (or boat in my case), you have to assert your dominance. And in this instance, that was not going to be a problem.

The little critter was tiny. I wasn’t sure if it was a dog or a hairy rat. Andrew, knowing my ways, tied me to a tree so I couldn’t get to the little monster. But I wasn’t giving up. I barked my head off and strained against that insidious leash he makes me wear. And ultimately my efforts paid off, but now I wish they hadn’t. The leash was tied to a thin branch and it finally broke, freeing me to go and teach that interloper a lesson. I wasn’t going to hurt her, just let her know who was boss.

I ran full force right at the little thing, and instead of cowering or running away as any normal small dog should do, she turned and faced me, bared her teeth and started barking … at me! I was so unprepared for that turn of events, I screeched to a halt—and this is the hard part to tell—I turned tail and ran. I ran right to the boat, jumped inside and hid under the bed. And do you want to know what the worst part was? As I ran, I could hear Andrew laughing.

The conclusion of my sad story is that, eventually, I made friends with the little terror. Her name is Maui, and for a little female rat-dog, she’s not a bad sort. But she does tend to boss me around a bit much—too much if you ask me.

As for Andrew, he will never let me forget my moment of mortification. Sometimes when he’s at the computer, he’ll break out laughing, turn to me, and in a sickening, sugary voice say, “How’s my big, brave doggie doing? You better watch out, there are a few mean-looking cats around!”

I could just strangle him at times—that is, if I had thumbs.

I have to be going. I have an appointment at the vet’s to get my foibles checked out.