I was cleaning out the garage. The Hammer was supervising my work. She is a better supervisor than any foreman I have had in my working life. When I was done cleaning I told my dog, "Looks like we're all done here girl. Let's go in the house and get us another beer." I have always talked to my dog like she was my room mate. Dogs develop quite the vocabulary that way.
The Hammer ignored me. She sat by the car door impatiently. Dogs talk to us in their language all the time too. We develop our dog's vocabulary that way. I called her a few more times and gave up, went and got the leash and took my dog for a car ride to one of her favourite places.
I got some fresh air; the Hammer got all muddy and long-tongued.
Sonja asked, "Did you two have fun out there tonight?" when we returned. As the Hammer licked Sonja's face I said, "We sure did. The best time to go for walks is before the summer smog starts choking us. Plus the Hammer found a dead muskrat to play with in the mud." The Hammer loves dead things.
"You bastard! Why didn't you tell me that before she started kissing me?"
"I guess I was thinking too much about the last Fuller's in the back of the fridge."
"You and your fucking beer! Think about me! I just got kissed by a dead rat."
"It may not have been all the way dead until the Hammer got a hold of it."
"Drink your beer you bastard! I don't want to hear about it."
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