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A Matter Of Principle
Jack Stratton chuffed sluggishly, watching closely the pair of gray squirrels sprinting across the top of his fence. The sun, nearly perpendicular to his gaze, allowed little in the way of shade for his comfort. If his friends had dared to appear closer to sundown, Jack Stratton would have taken great pleasure in reminding them, yet again, that this yard was his, and he neither appreciated nor tolerated trespassers. Scofflaws, that’s what they are… they just don’t respect the natural order of things.
These days, the expended effort (especially at midday) hardly seemed worth the trouble. After all, he’d never once really come close to catching either of the tormentors… somewhere in their rodent make-up they possessed a unique escape ability. Chasing them away became more a matter of principle than an actual security breech. Besides, he’d tipped his water bowl over earlier this morning and it wasn’t likely that David would be home before dark. His continuous panting helped, but if he was destined to die of thirst, it would be in the exercise of a more noble cause or at least something a little more along the lines of his job description. No one short of a human stranger (or a stray cat) would incite Jack Stratton to action today… Summer’s a bitch, pardon the canine pun, but he had no other frame of reference.
Perhaps, after dark, David would lower the tailgate on the pickup and take Jack Stratton for a ride, allowing him to place his paws on the top rail and bark incessantly at each passing object. The warm breeze in his face never failed to refresh and exhilarate him, urging him to his frenzied expression of dogdom’s finest hour. Oh, glory, you are mine!
But for now, Jack Stratton laid his head upon his front paws and closed his eyes, waiting for the passage of time or the sound of an intruder. Nothing else would be allowed to disrupt his dolor. Summer's a bitch...
Bob Church © 9/28/02
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