So I went for a very long walk with my Maltipoo, Oliver Twist. At 4 years of age, the ragamuffin has a lot more energy–and stamina–than poor Henry, the King Charles Cavalier who descends from royalty who is, dare we say, getting on in years.
Having recently celebrated his tenth (Ten, count them. 10!) birthday. It’s all I can do to get Henry to walk from his food bowl to the couch. So, if you ask me, long walks with him are definitely out of the question. Not going to happen, no sir.
Anyway, there was Oliver, blithely following along when suddenly, we encounter these interesting statues by the entrance of a rather trendy restaurant, where the prices are, well, guaranteed to knock your socks off.
“But I’m not wearing any socks,” Oliver astutely observes.
“Don’t be silly,” I mutter. “It’s just an expression!”
Anyway. Oliver barks in alarm at the canine curiosities and puffs his chest out as far as it can go, which makes for a scary sight, indeed. He then inches closer, as if to sniff their butts.
“Oliver, cut that out,” I hiss. “They’re not real!”
Oliver sighs and I roll my eyes.
And so we continue our walk. When we arrive at a nearby park. Oliver jumps on a bench and declares,
“Now, I’m a statue!”
To which I matter-of-factly reply, “Nonsense. You’re not even facing the right way!”
This causes Oliver to ponder for a moment. Then he turns to his left and asks,
By George, he’s got it!
I gleefully exclaim, “Oliver, you’ve captured the statues–hook, line and sinker!”
“But I don’t have any hooks,” he says in genuine exasperation.
I laugh out loud, though some would call it a guffaw. And as for young Oliver, well, he takes a bow.
End of story.